Brothers In Arms
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: Reeling from the events of Bond of Brotherhood, Dean and Sam set out on a mission to make things right. While Dean is adjusting to being back in the life, Sam is learning not all sacrifices require a life; sometimes they cost more. Part 2 of the Brotherhood series
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to Brothers in Arms. You guys supported me with Bond Of Brotherhood to an extent that blew my socks off. It made writing this story an exciting but scary experience, as I was so worried I would get it all wrong and disappoint. It's written now though, so all I can do is wait to see what you all think of it.**

 **Jenjoremy has signed up to beta again — Chuck bless her. SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 also deserve thanks again for all their help and support. They spent most evenings on Skype with me helping me get the ideas down on paper. I can't thank them enough.**

 **I'll stop waffling now and let you read…**

* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

' _Get Dean to Bobby's. Get Dean to Bobby's. He'll be safe at Bobby's.'_

The thoughts reverberated around Sam's mind, spurring him on. He needed Dean safe. He needed to get him somewhere he couldn't do another damn fool thing.

' _Like save your life'?_ a voice whispered.

But that was not all he'd done. He'd saved Sam, brought him back, but it was at the cost of his own life, and that didn't do a thing that could be counted as good for Sam.

" _How was I supposed to live with that?"_ Dean had asked. How was _Sam_ supposed to live with what Dean had done? Even after he'd broken the deal and saved him—he _would_ save him—he had to live with the knowledge another of his family had made that sacrifice for him. What was Dean thinking believing Sam could ever be worth that? Sam would have to watch him continually now to make sure he didn't do anything else so damn stupid.

It didn't occur to Sam that what he was planning was equally as stupid as what Dean had done. For him, it was the only solution. He would save Dean from himself and then deal with the fallout when it was time.

"Sam," Dean said quietly from beside him.

Sam's hands tightened reflexively on the steering wheel. "Yes, Dean."

"Where are we going?"

"Bobby's," Sam said curtly.

"Oh. Okay. Makes sense I guess. Ellen and the others are there, too."

Ellen. Sam felt a pang of pain at the mention of her name. He desperately needed to see her and Jo. He couldn't though. There was something more important he needed to do.

They were in Sioux Falls before Dean spoke again. "How do you feel?"

Sam looked incredulous. "How'd you think?"

Dean grimaced. "I mean physically. You did take a bullet to the chest."

In truth, Sam ached. The broken ribs from Jake's attack and the gunshot wound were healed, but he still felt pain in his chest, as if there was a heavy weight there. If he wasn't himself, he would say it was heartache. His logical mind told him it was trauma, some internal injury from what had happened. The one comfort he had was that it wouldn't be there much longer.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, Dean," Sam said tiredly.

Dean heaved a sigh. Sam knew he was being difficult, but he couldn't help himself. There was too much that needed to be said, and he couldn't say a damn word of it. He didn't have it in him. He was too far gone.

Sam steered the car onto Bobby's property and through the junked cars to the house. He pulled to a stop and just sat for a moment without moving.

"It'll be okay, Sam," Dean said. "They need to see you."

That was probably true, but he couldn't see them. "I'll be in a minute," he said. "You prep them so Bobby doesn't try to take me down when he sees me." It was a believable story. Apparently good enough to fool Dean, as he opened the car door and climbed out.

"It'll be okay," Dean said again.

Sam nodded. "I know."

Dean closed the door and walked towards the house. Sam watched him go, just for a moment, and then changed gear. The wheels spun as he slammed a foot down and reversed. He yanked on the wheel, turning the car away from Dean, and rode off as fast as he could through the stacked cars. Through the rearview mirror he saw Dean running after him, but he didn't slow.

He thought he heard Dean shouting his name as he roared through the iron arch that marked the entrance to Bobby's yard. He felt a little bad about leaving this way, but he had more important things to worry about than hurting Dean's feelings. Soon he would hurt all of them a lot more.

* * *

The ride back to Wisconsin took long enough that dusk was falling again when he crossed the state lines. He wasn't sure of the day or how long he had lain dead in that cabin, but he supposed it didn't really matter.

His mind kept presenting him with images of his family as he had last seen them; Ellen smiling across the bar as he left for a hunt. Ash and Jo arguing over something stupid in the kitchen as the coffee brewed. Dean chasing the car.

He pushed each image away as quickly as it came. He couldn't think about them or what he was going to do to them now, especially Ellen. Dean would get her through it. If there was anyone better prepared to help them all, Sam didn't know who it could be. Dean had spent years training and perfecting the knowledge that he would need. And they would know why he did it. They would know because they would expect nothing less from him. He was a hunter and a brother. He would do what he had to do. He would save, because that was what he did.

He had to pass the cemetery where it had all happened on his way to where he suspected Dean had made his deal. As he drove by, he thought of another face he had seen recently: his father's. It was probably a hallucination, an adrenaline surged vision that his brain had used to give him strength and support just when he needed it. There was a possibility though, the smallest chance, that it had really been him. The gate had been open. The demons had been rushing out. If anyone could have dragged himself out, it was John Winchester.

Sam could only hope it was real.

* * *

It was obvious he'd found the right crossroads at first try as the center was still scuffed. He took a can of red spray-paint from the trunk and drew in a perfect devil's trap, big enough that the demon would arrive into it. He stepped back, checked his work, and then knelt and uncovered the small tin Dean had used, cursing as he did. It was the same one John had used when making his deal. Sam had dug it up after and stowed it in the trunk. It had been sentimental nonsense, but he hadn't wanted someone else to find it and wonder what had happened to the man that made that deal.

Dean had used his driver's license as his image for the summoning. Sam stowed it in his pocket and replaced it with his own fake Fed badge. He placed the tin back in the hole, kicked the dirt back over it, and stamped it down. All he could do now was wait. The demon would come, he was sure. It would be curious and ready to gloat.

He didn't have to wait long. A slow handclap came from behind him and he spun to see the demon a few feet away. It was in the form of a woman with long, black hair that cascaded down her back and deep red lips. Sam stepped back automatically, not wanting to be close to the foul thing, even though he knew more intimate closeness was to come.

" _Another_ Winchester," she purred. "It's my lucky day."

Sam stood stony faced, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I have to say, it's good to see you up and alive again," she said. "How does it feel?"

"Every day's a gift."

She laughed. "Yeah, I'll bet. How's Dean? Has he been hit by dealer's remorse yet? That usually comes on pretty strong within a few hours."

"Dean's fine," Sam said stolidly. "He's _going to_ _be_ fine."

She laughed. "Sure he is. Keep telling yourself that, Winchester. It'll help you get through the next twelve months."

Sam glared at her. Dean probably did have remorse. Now the shock had worn off, he would see just how stupid he had been thinking Sam was worth it. Did John have the same regrets as the hounds came for him? Did he curse Sam's name as the hounds tore him apart? Possibly. Probably. Almost certainly. There was nothing Sam could do about that now though, nothing but hope what he had seen in that cemetery was real— _Please let it be real._

He could do nothing for his father, but he could do something for Dean. That was why he was here.

"I want you to break the deal," Sam said. "Give Dean his life back in exchange for mine."

She raised an eyebrow. "Wow. I did not see that one coming. Oh, wait, yeah I did. Winchesters, you're all so damn predictable. Daddy sold his soul for his Sammy. Sam came back and royally screwed his brother over, and then Dean—God knows what possessed him to do it—sold _his_ soul. Now Sammy wants to save Dean. It's like a merry-go-round of stupidity in your family, isn't it?"

"Break the deal," Sam growled. His heart pounded in his chest. It wasn't from fear for himself. He knew coming out here that he was coming to his death. He would break the deal and that would cost his life, but it would be worth it. It was what was _supposed_ to happen. His heart was pounding with the fear that she would refuse him.

She sauntered to the very edge of the devil's trap, the tips of her black stilettos nudging the paint. "No."

It wasn't like Sam had expected this to be easy. She wouldn't be a demon if she let things go without a fight. "Maybe this will persuade you," he said smoothly, reaching round to the back of his pants and pulling the colt. He leveled it between her eyes. To her credit, she didn't jump back or show fear, but she did step back slowly, lazily, as if she knew he wouldn't pull the trigger. She was wrong. He would.

She stood in the very middle of the trap and raised her arms at her sides, presenting herself as a target. "Well, I can't deny it's persuasive, but my answer's the same. No."

Sam clicked off the safety. "Break the deal."

"No."

"I will shoot you."

"You really won't," she said confidently. "You won't because there's still something you want from me, isn't there?"

Sam lowered the gun slightly, aiming at her throat now. "What do I want?"

"Come on, Winchester. I know you're not particularly loquacious, but even you can string together a few words for this. Dean's worth it, right?"

Sam drew a deep breath, released it, and spoke in a low, menacing voice. "Deal with me. I want Dean off the hook and me on. I don't want time. I just want it to be over." That was important. Ellen, Jo, Ash, they were already doing their grieving. If he died now it would be easier for them than if they had time to accept his return just for him to die again. It wouldn't help Dean much, because he had already seen Sam's resurrection for himself, but there was nothing Sam could do about that.

"You mean it," she said. "You'd give up this new lease on life and go to the pit for him."

"He did it for me."

"Yes, but you actually have something to offer the world. You save lives. What does Dean do except wipe the nose of sniveling children dealt a bad hand in life?"

"He saves lives, too," Sam said. "He just does it in a different way."

She clucked her tongue. "Listen to you. I'm practically tearing up at this show of love." She swiped a hand over her cheek as if wiping away tears. "Unfortunately, the answer's the same. No. I won't deal with you."

Sam dropped the colt back to his side. "Why not?"

"Because…." She sighed. "Because we all have a boss. I can't deal with you. It's forbidden."

"Forbidden?" Sam laughed harshly. "What kind of demon are you? Do you always follow the rules? Are you that much of a coward?"

"I'm a demon that likes my life," she said. "I don't screw with the rules because I don't want to be stuffed back into the deepest levels of Hell for a Winchester. Besides, I really don't have a choice in this. Like I said, it's forbidden."

Sam shook his head. "You're pathetic."

She scowled at him. "When I say forbidden, I don't mean it's a bit naughty to do it. I mean it's actually impossible. I have to have Hell's backing for every deal I make. That's just the way it works. I could say the words, seal it with a kiss, but you'd stay alive and Dean would still be counting down the days to the hounds. It. Is. Forbidden."

"Then break the deal," Sam said. "You made that deal. You've got to have the power to get rid of it."

"Stupidity, thy name is Winchester. I don't hold the contract. As soon as that sweet deal came through, it was snatched up by the boss. There's no getting it back and there's no breaking it while they hold it. My boss is badass."

"Who is your boss?"

She scoffed. "Like I'm going to tell you."

"Forbidden is it?"

"Actually, yes it is."

"That's a shame," Sam said. "You just became expendable." He raised the gun again.

"No! Wait!" She gasped, showing the first actual sign of fear since Sam arrived. "I'll tell you. Don't shoot me."

Sam smiled grimly. "Well?"

"Promise you won't kill me?"

"I promise."

She narrowed her eyes. "Ellsworth. He's the one you need."

"Thank you," Sam said. He locked eyes with her, wanting to see it happen, wanting to see her die for what she had done to Dean. He pulled the trigger. The bullet hit her in the center of the forehead, making her head fly back and a spray of blood shoot out behind her as the energy crackled through her. She dropped like a stone and Sam walked forward and bowed over her. "I never was good at keeping promises."

He shoved her away from the center of the trap, retrieved the tin, and carried it back to the Impala. He threw it onto the backseat as he climbed in behind the wheel. For a moment he was okay, calm even, and then the true weight of what had just happened settled over him and he began to punch and pummel the steering wheel and dash, shouting curses. He did it until his knuckles burned and his arms ached, and then he fell forward over the dashboard, exhausted.

"Dammit, Dean," he moaned.

* * *

 **So… What did you think of the first chapter of Brothers in Arms?**

 **This story was a rollercoaster of a ride to write — I did it all in just over a month — and I can't wait to share it all with you.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Many thanks to Jenjoremy for the awesome beta job. I also owe SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 endless love and thanks for helping me get this story written. You ladies are the best xxx**

 **Thank you, thank you, you wonderful people. The response to the first chapter was more than I could have hoped for. I can't wait to see what you make of the rest of the story.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Two**_

When Bobby heard the rumble of the Impala approaching, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had worried Dean would never come back. That he would stay in that cabin with his brother's corpse forever.

Ellen glanced up at Bobby from where she stood against the wall. "He's back." she said quietly

Bobby felt like an intruder on their grief—Ellen, Jo, Ash were hurting more than him. He was in pain, no doubt about that. Sam was once his boy, and he mourned him, but he hadn't been Bobby's for a long time—not the way he was theirs.

He'd been thinking of Dean and how this was going to affect him. He'd barely gotten his brother back before he lost him again. Dean might be a different person now from the kid who had been left behind by John Winchester, but he still loved his brother and saw it as his responsibility to take care of him. It had been harder for him to take care of Sam when he found him again because Sam was capable in a way Dean wasn't, capable enough to turn that gun on himself to rid the world of the worst demon any of them had ever known.

It was going to ruin Dean.

Just then, he heard the Impala's engine rev again and then the skid of tires and the roar as it drove away. Bobby got to his feet quickly, barely aware of the eyes fixing on him with their confusion, and made for the door. Dean was leaving again. Maybe he'd realized he couldn't face their grief while he was so burdened with his own. Maybe he needed space. Maybe he was going to do something really stupid.

Bobby yanked open the door and raced out onto the porch. Dean and the impala were nowhere in sight, but he could hear him shouting his brother's name. Bobby raced toward the voice. He skidded around the corner of a stack of junkers and looked ahead. Dean was standing under the iron arch that proclaimed the name of the salvage yard. His hands were in his hair and his shoulders were shuddering. The car was nowhere in sight.

"Dean," he called.

Dean turned. "He left," he said miserably. "Bobby, he left."

"Who left?"

"Sam. Why would he leave me?"

Bobby staggered forward on numb feet, his heart aching. "He didn't have a choice, Dean. He had to do it. He couldn't have lived with himself otherwise."

"No," Dean shook his head. "He was okay. But he drove off."

In that moment Bobby knew something more terrible than what he had already lived through had happened. He felt sick with fear. "Dean… Dean, what did you do?"

Dean didn't even seem to hear him; he had turned back to the road, as if hoping the car would suddenly reappear.

"Dean!" Bobby snapped, grabbing Dean's shoulder and dragging him around to face him. "What did you do?"

Dean sucked in a breath. "I saved him. He's was okay. He was fine. But he left."

Bobby swallowed down bile. "Please tell me you didn't. Please, Dean, tell me you didn't."

"I made a deal."

Bobby's hands found the collar of Dean's shirt and gripped it tight. "What did you say?" His brain was refusing to accept what he knew he had heard.

"I made a deal," Dean said again. "I saved him."

Bobby shook him hard. "Why the hell would you do that to yourself?"

Dean's head flopped on his shoulders with the force of Bobby's desperation driven strength, and then he pulled back, out of Bobby's grasp. "Because it's Sam."

Fury built in Bobby's chest, making his hands fist and shake. "Are you that damn stupid? Do you even know what this means?"

"Of course," Dean said distractedly. "But it won't happen. Sammy will save me. I'll be fine."

Bobby sagged. He couldn't even think straight. Sam would save him? There was no guarantee of that. Sam would try, he'd try his damndest, but if he failed… "Dammit, Dean."

* * *

Ellen's grief was a physical pain. Sam was gone and she didn't think she'd ever recover.

She stifled a sob.

Jo got up from the couch where she had been sitting with Ash and walked forward, her arms upraised. Ellen stepped back. She couldn't bear to be touched.

Jo looked stricken, and another tear fell down her already wet cheek. "Mom?"

Ellen cupped her face in her hands, hating the contact but knowing Jo needed it. "I love you, Joanna Beth. I always have and I always will."

"I know," Jo said with a sad smile. She swallowed. "Sam knew, too. He knew how much you loved him, and he loved you"

Ellen nodded and dropped her hands to her sides again. Was that true? Did Sam know just how much he was loved? Did he die still resenting her for hiding the truth about Dean from him for so long? Was that bond broken? She hoped not, she prayed not, but she couldn't be sure. She thought she would give almost anything to talk to him one last time, to tell him he was loved, always had been and always would be.

Part of her wanted to be angry with him for what he had done to himself, taking himself away from them. A huge part of her was angry with John for molding the boy the way he had, making him think that destroying the demon was worth any price, including his life. She would take Yellow-Eyes in the world forever if it would give her Sam back. She just missed him so damn much and it hadn't even been a week. How was she supposed to live without him in her life? She wanted him back, glowering, moody, hardened; she would take any version of him she could get.

Ash cleared his throat and Ellen and Jo turned their attention to him. "Where's his… where is he?"

"He's in a cabin in Wyoming," Ellen said. "We left Dean with him. I thought he'd come back when I heard the car, but…" She shrugged.

"We have to go get him," Jo said. "We can't leave him there like that."

"I know, honey, but we have to wait for Dean to be ready. If we force this, he'll never get over it. He needs to face what's happened."

"You think he'll ever get over it?" Jo asked, sinking back onto the couch. "I don't think I will."

Ash took Jo's hand and patted it shakily. He was in shock, Ellen knew. He'd been a part of the hunting community for a while, but always on the periphery; he'd never lost anyone until now. He'd been innocent to that part of their world. Ellen hated that his innocence had been broken now, especially with Sam.

The door flung open then and Bobby stormed in with Dean following. Ellen had thought Dean had driven off again when she heard the Impala pulling away, but she guessed he'd only gotten as far as the road before Bobby browbeat him into coming back. Poor kid. His life had just been turned upside-down. No wonder he had wanted space. It was unfair that Bobby was pressing him into being with them, but she was glad in a way that he was back. Hopefully it meant he was ready for them to put Sam to rest. He needed that. It was a desecration of his memory to leave his body rotting on that bed.

As Dean came into the room, she got a good look at him, and she frowned. The man she'd left had been devastated, lost in his grief. Now he looked alive again. His eyes glinted and his face was flushed. He was happy. An inkling of suspicion crept over her. She was equal measures afraid—afraid to hope and afraid for Dean—and horrified.

"What happened?" she asked.

Bobby rounded on Dean. "You want to tell them or should I?" he growled.

Dean smiled, but he looked distracted as he glanced toward the window.. "Sammy's back."

Ellen sucked in a breath and fresh tears pooled in her eyes.

"How?" Jo asked. "Mom said she saw him die."

"Yeah, Dean," Bobby said bitterly. "How?"

Dean's smile didn't fade, and he seemed oblivious to Bobby's fury. His eyes swept the room and then landed on Ellen. "I made a deal."

Jo gasped and Ellen watched a tear roll down her cheek. It was easier to look at her daughter, at her relief and happiness, than it was to see Bobby's anger at Dean. The young man seemed calm, even happy; it was as if he was oblivious to what he had done and the consequences.

"You call that saving him?" Bobby asked.

"He's alive, isn't he?" Dean countered. "Why can't you see this is a good thing, Bobby? I got my brother back. He's alive! I saved him!"

"You think I don't know that?" Bobby asked loudly. "You think it didn't hurt me knowing he was dead? I care about Sam. I didn't want to see him end like that, but you sold your _soul_ , Dean! You're going to die and go to Hell, and you act like you don't even care! And Sam. What do you think it's going to do to him when your deal comes due? You'll have years with him, I get that, but you'll ruin him when it's all over."

Dean finally looked uncomfortable. He cast his eyes to the floor. "Not years," he mumbled. "Year."

"What?" Bobby shouted, staring at Dean in stunned disbelief.

Dean looked up, and he looked angry now as well. "A year, Bobby. I got a year. It was the only deal I could get. I have a year and then the hounds are coming, but you know what? I would do it all again in a heartbeat, so you can shove your anger because I _saved_ him!"

"Yes," Ellen said gratefully. "You did."

Dean turned to her, looking pleased that someone at least was sharing his relief. Ellen hated what was to come for Dean, but she couldn't deny her happiness. Her boy was back. He was going to be pissed as all hell and devastated by what Dean had done, but he would be alive to feel that.

Bobby glowered at her. "Sure, it's so easy for you, isn't it? You've got Sam back and the rest of the world can go to hell as far as you're concerned. I guess it's just those us that care about Dean that are going to suffer because of this, not you."

"Screw you!" Ellen spat, stepping into his space. "You think I don't care? You think Dean means that little to me? I care. He matters. I can just see through what he did for the gift that it is! Dean has done something amazing."

"Amazing for you, yeah. I'm the one that'll have to see him go up in flames!"

"That's enough!" Dean shouted. "I am not going up in flames. The hounds aren't going to come. Don't you know Sam at all? He's going to get me out of this, and we'll both be fine!"

"What did you say?" Ellen whispered.

"Sam's going to get me out of it," Dean replied. "He said so. I know the demon said…" He paled. "Oh God."

"What?" Jo asked angrily, getting to her feet.

"The demon said if I try to get out of the deal, Sam dies," Dean finished weakly. "But it's different, right? If Sam breaks the deal, it doesn't count."

"Dean," Ellen said in a measured voice. "Where is Sam now?"

"I don't know," Dean said, his hands going to his hair. "He just drove off."

And it didn't take a genius to work out where he'd go now. He'd be halfway back to the crossroads already, planning to get Dean out of his deal and probably killing himself in the process."

"Damn him," she breathed, making for the door.

"Wait!" Dean shouted. "What's happening?"

"He's on his way there," Ellen said, not turning as she yanked the door open. "He's getting his damn self killed."

* * *

Dean's knee bounced and his hands shook. Why hadn't he realized sooner? Where else would Sam have gone but to the crossroads? He had said he was going to save Dean, to break the deal, and Dean's absolute faith in him had made him sure he would do it. He hadn't been afraid because Sam would fix it. He _would_ fix it, but it would come at the cost of his own life. Goddammit.

Ellen was driving them in her old Ford. Jo and Ash were still at Bobby's. They hadn't made it to the car before Ellen peeled away from the house and raced toward the road. They'd been left standing on the porch, watching after them.

"He'll be okay," Ellen said, taking a corner at speed. "He'll be fine."

She wasn't talking to him, she was reassuring herself, but Dean tried to take comfort in her words. If they were fast enough, they could get there before Sam did anything stupid, like get himself killed.

He thought there was a chance they'd get there in time, despite Sam's head-start, because the demon Dean had dealt with had been keen to gloat when he'd been trying to broker a deal. It would want to torture Sam, too. And he might not even find the right crossroads. He could get a completely different demon, if there was even a demon there. They couldn't possibly police all crossroads, could they? Oh god, let them get to him in time.

"Drive faster," he begged.

Ellen slammed her foot down on the accelerator and coaxed the smallest amount of additional speed from the engine.

"Where's this crossroads?" Ellen asked when they had crossed the state line.

"Near the cemetery. Take the first left after the gates and you'll see it. It doesn't look like a real road. It's just dirt and gravel."

Ellen nodded stiffly, and then swallowed hard. "Dean, you need to know we might be too late."

"I know," Dean said tensely.

"And if we are, you can't blame yourself. This is Sam's choice. He's the only one who can make this decision." It sounded as though it cost her something to say it, as if a piece of her was torn away with the words.

"I know," Dean said again.

She glanced at him then turned her attention back to the road, her eyes tight with pain. "And you can't deal it away again. They won't let you this time. You have to prepare yourself for that."

"Are you prepared?"

She shook her head. "No. There's no preparing yourself for something like that, honey."

"Exactly. So don't expect me to do the impossible." He clenched his fists. "Take that left."

Ellen spun the wheel and drove onto the hard-packed earth and gravel of the back road that led to the crossroads Dean had found.

Ellen slowed as the crossroads came into sight and Dean caught sight of the unmoving form in the middle of the point the roads crossed paths. He jumped out of the car, running forward shouting his brother's name, even though he knew it wasn't Sam on the ground. It was a woman, the woman that had hosted the demon he'd dealt with. As he skidded to a halt at her side, he saw that there was a perfect bullet wound on her forehead. The dirt was scuffed beside her and Dean knelt and scooped out the loose earth.

"He's not here," Ellen said behind him.

"He's been here though," Dean said, pointing at the devil's trap. "The tin's gone, too." He straightened and brushed his hands down on his jeans.

"This is good, Dean," Ellen said. "He killed her. He drove away. When your dad made his deal… well, he was still here when we tracked him down. Sam's not."

"How do you know he didn't kill her after he made the deal? How do you know he's not running from the hounds right now?"

She shook her head. "I don't. I just know he's not here."

"Then where is he?"

Ellen considered for a moment and then nodded decisively. "He'll go home. If he failed, he'd want to be alone rather than face you."

"And if he succeeded?" Dean asked. "If he's already dead?"

"I don't believe that," she said. "I think he's at The Roadhouse. Come on." She tugged on his arm. "Let's go find your brother."

* * *

Dean sighed with relief when The Roadhouse came into view because the Impala was parked out front. Ellen mimicked him with a sigh of her own as she pulled the car to a stop and climbed out. Dean was a step ahead of her. He was already at the door, pushing on it. It was locked though. He turned to Ellen who jangled a set of keys in her hand.

"Hunters don't like hearing the word _no._ If the door was unlocked they'd have come in and helped themselves to my liquor. Sam's smart enough to know that. Come on round back." She led him to the rear of the bar and unlocked the door to the kitchen he'd been in a few times with Sam.

Ellen pushed past him and hurried through to the bar. Dean followed her, eager to see Sam and afraid in equal measure. He wasn't entirely sure he _hadn't_ broken the deal. This could be one of the last times he saw him if not the last itself. Or he could have failed and Dean could still be heading to the rack. He was desperate for the first option. He wanted Sam to live.

Ellen came to a dead stop in the doorway for a moment, and then she walked forward, saying, "Sam," mournfully.

Dean looked past her and saw Sam sitting at the corner table he usually favored. There was an almost empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. He looked up as they came in and Dean saw the bleary look in his eyes. He was wasted. More than that, he was devastated. He looked worse than he had in that cabin when he'd cried.

He looked Dean in the eye. "It didn't work."

Dean felt a wave of relief. It hadn't worked. Sam was going to be okay. He wasn't going to die to save Dean. That fate was thankfully still on Dean.

"It's not the end though. I got a name." He slugged back the contents of his glass and stared out at the empty bar. Ellen moved to his side and threw her arms around him, her face buried in his neck and her shoulders shaking.

As if Dean needed further confirmation that he had done the right thing, here it was. Ellen was crying with relief at Sam's return. It was worth it for her, for Jo, and for Dean. He had saved Sam for them all.

But when Sam locked eyes with him and said, "I _will_ fix this," Dean nodded, though in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, he began to wonder.

* * *

 **So… Poor Bobby's heart is breaking and Ellen's is flying. Bobby's reaction is not because he doesn't care for Sam, it's just that Sam hasn't been his in the way Dean is for a long time. It will be returned to in the next chapter. I know there wasn't much plot progression in this one, but I thought we deserved to see the news of Sam's return reach the rest of his family. Things will pick up next time.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing. You're an absolute star. Also thanks to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me get the ideas out and for telling me it wasn't crap.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Three**_

With everything that had happened—and was happening still—Dean had lost track of the real world, the world of rent and utilities and work. He was jarred back to reality the next morning by a call from Mike, his boss.

It was early, and he and Sam were sleeping in Sam's small bedroom at The Roadhouse. Despite the fact Ellen had once told him there was no place for him to sleep, it turned out Sam's room still had the small twin beds that they'd used when they were kids and John was hunting with Bill.

He was awake, just lying there listening to Sam's soft breaths, when his phone rang beside him. He answered quickly, not wanting it to wake Sam, but it was too late; Sam had jerked awake with the first ring.

" _Dean, it's Mike."_

"Oh… Hey…" Dean said awkwardly.

" _I hate to interrupt whatever it is you've been doing for the past week, but I was wondering if it might be possible for you to grace us with your presence today. We've got some kids who are in desperate need of a meeting, and Bonnie is getting just a bit overloaded handling your caseload alongside her own."_ Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

"Look, Mike, I'm sorry," Dean said. "A lot's been happening. I should have called, I know that, but things were kind of out of my control."

There was a long pause. _"Care to tell me what exactly is going on?"_

 _See, first my brother went missing, then he was possessed by a yellow-eyed demon. That was bad but what was worse was the fact my brother shot himself to kill the demon. I couldn't handle that, so I made a deal with a different demon to save his life. That worked well. My brother's alive again, but unless he can pull something out of his ass to save me, I'm headed to hell in a year. That's why I didn't manage to call in. Bad week, you know._

"I can't really talk about this now, Mike. I'll be by the office as soon as I can to explain."

" _As soon as you can? You come today or you don't bother to come back at all."_ Without another word, Mike ended the call.

Dean dropped the phone down onto the bed beside him and looked at Sam who was watching him carefully.

"Morning," Dean said.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, massaging his temples with his fingertips.

"Headache?" Dean asked.

Sam huffed a laugh. "Just a small one. I need coffee is all. Was that work stuff?"

"Yeah," Dean said slowly. "Seems they're a little pissed that I went AWOL. I guess it doesn't matter anymore really. I'll stop by later in the week and pack up." He considered and then realized he would need to pack up his house, as well. He had some money saved that could cover rent for a while, but they would need that money on the road. Damn. He had a lot to do. Quitting work was the first priority; that way they'd be able to reassign his kids faster. Then the house. He didn't have that much stuff to pack up, the place had come furnished, but the stuff he did have was special to him. He'd need a place to stow it.

He glanced up and saw Sam looked pale. "Pack up?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, the office, the house. I think I should handle the office first so they can get my kids taken care of. It won't take that long. I think Bobby will let me stash some of my stuff at his place; if not, Sonny will. Give me a week and I'll be ready to hit the road."

"You think you're coming with me?" Sam asked disbelievingly.

"No," Dean said easily. "I _know_ I'm coming with you."

"You don't need to do that, Dean. I'll take care of it. I'll stay in touch." He got to his feet. "Come on, I'll drop you home now."

"You'll stay in touch?" Dean laughed harshly. "You're kidding me, right? Sam, I am _in_ this now. I can't go back to that life. There's too much that needs to be done. I'm not leaving you to save me alone. I am a part of this."

Sam got to his feet and turned away, his shoulders slumped. "I'm not arguing that. I'm saying you don't need to give up _everything_ for this. You have a life, Dean, a good one. I'm not letting you throw that away."

Dean stood and pulled him around to face him, seeing the misery in Sam's face as he did. It made his words softer than he had intended them to be. "I don't have a life, Sam. I have a year."

"No," Sam said angrily. "You have a life. I am taking care of that. You're not going anywhere."

"I believe you, but I'm still a part of it now. I can't go back to work, taking care of other people's lives knowing you're out there trying to save mine. It's not happening."

Sam sighed. "I don't want this. I want you safe."

"Me too," Dean said. "Safe sounds awesome, but it also sounds impossible. I'm not going to be able to slip back into that life with everything that's happened. There's too much for us to do, and I'm not leaving you to do it alone."

Sam stared him in the eyes, seeming to measure his determination. "Okay," he said eventually. "It's your choice, I guess." He rolled his shoulders and exhaled heavily. "We better get you home. By the way, where's your bike?"

"Oh." Dean hadn't thought about it even once since he'd last ridden it. "I may have left it at a crime scene—the diner you got nabbed at."

Sam smiled. "Of course you did."

* * *

Sam was coming out of the bedroom, showered and dressed when a blur of blonde hair and open arms collided with him. His arms came up automatically to catch Jo, and then his hands moved to her back to hold her as she cried against him.

"Sam," she said in a choked voice.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He'd had more physical contact in the past week than he usually had in an entire year. It caught him off guard each time—the raw emotion in the people he was holding. He'd endured the embraces because he didn't know what else to do. Dean had caught him in a moment of weakness with his sadness. With Ellen, he knew he needed to allow her to feel—and he'd been too loaded to stop her. Now here was Jo, and that was about relief, too. He could live without any further contact for another year.

"It's okay," he said awkwardly, putting his hands on her shoulders and trying to ease her away. She held onto him harder though, and Sam didn't want to hurt her by forcing her away, so he just stood quietly and waited for her to get it out of her system.

Eventually she pulled back and sniffed. "Don't ever do that again," she said firmly.

"I'll do my best."

She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, catching him completely off guard. He knew it was an innocent gesture though, more about her than about him, so he forced himself to smile. "I'm sorry, Jo." He said it sincerely. He hadn't wanted to hurt any of them. He'd just wanted to kill the demon. He hadn't thought past that. Even if he'd had the time to think about it, however, he still would have done it, he thought. It had been his life's mission.

Jo disappeared into her bedroom, still sniffling, and Sam went into the kitchen. Dean was sitting at the table and Ash was at the counter, pouring coffee. As Sam entered Ash turned and smiled widely. He stepped forward, his arms half raised, and Sam held up his hands to block him. "Coffee, Ash?" he said pointedly.

Ash nodded eagerly and handed him a full mug. Sam sipped at it, glancing around the room. His eyes fell on Dean who was smiling widely, possibly at Ash's aborted embrace.

"Damn, man, it's good to see you," Ash said. "You know, alive."

"Thanks," Sam said, talking the seat opposite Dean. "Ash, we need a little help. Dean left the motorbike at Sunshine Diner."

"With a bunch of people with slit throats," Dean added.

Sam nodded, though the information was news to him. He just remembered heading into the diner. The knock to his head had wiped at least a few minutes from his memory. He wondered if he'd been there, trying to protect the people before he was taken, or if they'd been killed specifically because he was there.

"It's probably been impounded," Sam said. "Can you find out where?"

"Sure," Ash said.

Sam figured if they knew where it was, they could send Bobby with his badge to get it back. Jo would probably have to help with the actual pick-up. Somehow Sam just couldn't imagine Bobby Singer riding the miles on Dean's beast of a bike.

"What are we going to do then though?" Dean asked. "It's registered to me, so…"

"Ash can wipe the record, right?"

Ash nodded. "Can do, boss."

"Thanks, Ash," Dean said when Sam failed to show his gratitude. His mind had already moved from things like the bike and police records. He was thinking about what was going to happen next. He had the name Ellsworth to work with. He needed to track him down. It should only take one weak-willed demon to get a location for him. He would scout out a crossroad and hope they kept their demon rolodex updated. He wanted more information about who exactly Ellsworth was, and what he had to do with Dean's contract.

"Sam!" Dean barked, and Sam's attention snapped back to the room with a start. He looked around and saw nothing looked wrong. Dean was staring at him and Ash was leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee.

"What?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I was talking to you. I was asking if you'd give me a ride to my office."

"Yeah, sure," Sam said. "Just shout when you're ready. I've got a couple things to do." He walked out of the kitchen and into the bar. He sat down at the corner table with his coffee in front of him and started typing out a text to send to all the hunters he knew. **Need a demon. Call me before exorcising if you get one. SW.**

* * *

Dean finished his coffee and chatted with Ash for a while, giving Sam some time and space to do whatever it was he was doing. Ellen and Jo joined them and started making breakfast together at the stove. Dean listened to their contented chatter and smiled to himself. He had done this. Had he not made his deal, this would be a place of mourning. No matter what Bobby said, Dean knew he'd done the right thing.

When Ellen set a platter of eggs and sausage on the table and announced breakfast was ready, Dean went into the bar to ask Sam if he wanted some. Sam was sitting in the corner, an empty coffee mug in front of him and the phone to his ear.

"I've run into a little trouble," he was saying. "I need to speak to a demon." He paused and listened for a moment. "You have? Give me an hour and I'll… No? Okay, thanks, Isaac. I'll meet you there." He set the phone down, blew out a breath, and then glanced up at Dean. "Hey."

"Breakfast's ready," Dean said.

"Gotta skip it."

Dean nodded. "Fine, just let me grab my stuff."

"No," Sam said sharply, and then went on in a more conciliatory tone. "Not this one, Dean. These signs are big and that means the demons are big."

"I can handle it."

"Not this time. You've got life crap to do, like go by your office and take care of that. I've put a call in to Bobby and he's on his way over here. When Ash gets the impound address, Jo can help him pick up the bike. I'll be gone a couple days max. I'll meet you back at your place."

"And this isn't just some plan to ditch me and go off on your own to break the deal?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowed.

"No. This is some plan to maybe save some lives and get some information. You want in, I'll back that, but not this one."

Dean stared at him, searching for the lie, but Sam wasn't shutting down, and his face wasn't a mask. He seemed genuine and honest in what he was saying. He just didn't think Dean was ready for a case this big. He was worried. Dean could relate. That didn't stop him wanting to go though. Sam had gotten hurt last time they'd been parted; he'd been killed. Dean wanted to be there to take care of him, even though he was well aware of just how capable Sam was.

Sam went into the kitchen and Dean followed after him. "Jo, Bobby Singer is coming over and he'll need your help getting Dean's bike back. Ash, get the info for them."

"Where are you going?" Ellen asked, setting down her knife and fork and getting to her feet.

"Isaac and Tamara need help," Sam said. "And they might have something I need. I'm going to check it out."

"Where?" Ellen asked.

"Not far," Sam said evasively.

Ellen frowned at him and then her eyes darted to Dean. "Which one of us are you trying to protect here, Sam?"

"All of you," Sam said unabashed. "I'll see you in a couple days." He ducked his head, kissed her cheek and then disappeared out the back door.

Ellen stood with her hand on her cheek, looking stunned for a moment, and then she came back to herself and made for the door. It was too late. Dean could already hear the sound of the Impala's engine revving as Sam drove away.

"That sneaky little…" Ellen started.

Ash laughed. "Wow. If I knew all I had to do was kiss you to get you off my back, I'd be doing that all the time."

Ellen didn't look amused. Dean didn't blame her; he wasn't exactly feeling full of joy either. Sam might say all the right things about backing his choice to come back on the hunt, but the fact was he'd just dumped Dean and driven off.

Dean wasn't happy.

* * *

Isaac and Tamara were sitting in a booth when Sam arrived at the diner. They had untouched plates of food in front of them and a notepad between them.

"Sam Winchester," Isaac said, standing with a hand outstretched to greet him. Tamara smiled at him but stayed seated.

Sam ignored his hand and sat opposite them, waving away the waitress when she started toward their table.

Isaac dropped his hand back to his side, looking awkward, and then sat down.

"What have you got?" Sam asked.

Isaac flipped back a couple pages of their notepad. "Well, we just came from a strange death in town, a woman battered to death with a stiletto. Before that there was a family that literally starved to death in front of the TV, despite the fact the fridge was full to bursting. There was a helluva cicada storm there, too." Tamara nudged him with her elbow and he set the notepad back on the table and looked at Sam. "Look, man, there's been talk…"

Sam leaned back in his seat and nodded slowly. "Yeah? What kind of talk?"

"Something big happened," Tamara said. "Strange storm clouds over seventeen cities. Clouds that, according to a couple hunters that were on the ground, look like demon smoke. Do _you_ know what's happening?"

Sam considered how much to tell them. They didn't need to know about Dean's deal. That was family business. But they did deserve to know about the masses of demons that were set free in Wyoming. All hunters should be aware of that.

"You've heard of the Yellow-Eyed demon, right?"

"The one you were tracking?" Tamara asked.

Sam nodded. "It's dead now. I took it down. There was trouble though. A devil's gate. The demon got it open, and before we could get it closed again, an ass-load of demons escaped. _That's_ the something big. We've got hundreds of new demons on earth, creating hell."

Isaac whistled. "Just what we all need. More demons."

"Exactly," Sam said. "Get the word out."

"We will," Tamara said fervently, giving a little shudder. Isaac wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"You said you had a demon for me," Sam said.

"Yeah…" Isaac said slowly. "That was a bit preemptive. We _think_ we've got a demon."

Sam glared at him. He could be doing something useful right now, like tracking an actual demon to get some answers from, rather than sitting here with them. It was a hunt though, and it was this or watching Dean pack up his old life. Sam knew which he preferred.

"What have you got?" he asked.

"The woman who did the stiletto killing _isn't_ a demon," Tamara said.

"Helpful," Sam said.

"But she was definitely hit with something. She doesn't remember blacking out or anything, and I checked her with holy water in case, but there was no reaction. She just really wanted those shoes apparently."

"And this makes you think demon because?"

"Because I'm not a fan of coincidence," she replied stiffly.

Sam leaned his elbows on table and massaged his temples, trying to think. One woman who had killed for a pair of shoes could just be crazy, but when he added in the family… What could have possessed them to just starve themselves to death?

"Tell me about the family," he said briskly.

Isaac told them everything. About the stench of the house, the crop failure and cicadas—usual demon signs—the way they were just sitting in front of the TV, as if they'd fallen asleep while watching their favorite show.

Sam took it all in and mulled it over in his mind. Demons. He kept coming back to demons, though that was perhaps because of what had happened to him personally. Demons couldn't compel you to kill unless they were possessing you though… Unless…

Sam cursed.

* * *

Bobby and Jo got back late afternoon with Dean's bike. Dean spent a moment checking it over, making sure it hadn't been damaged by the ham-fisted cops. It hadn't.

He had no excuse to not go to the office and deal with that side of things now, or even home to start packing up, but he stayed in the bar, staring moodily into his beer. He had the phone in his hand, and he'd almost called a dozen times, but each time he hesitated, knowing Sam probably didn't need him interrupting whatever he was doing.

"You waiting for a call from your sweetheart?" Bobby asked, thumping into the chair beside him.

Dean's head jerked up. "What? Oh. No. I was just thinking about calling Sam."

"Where is he anyway?"

"On a hunt," Dean said. "Got a call from someone named Isaac and took off."

"I know Isaac. He and his wife Tamara make quite the team. What are they hunting?"

"Demon, I think," Dean said. "That's what Sam was looking for anyway. He said last night he had a name that might help me."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "That sounds hopeful."

"Yeah." Dean smiled. "Like I said, Sammy will take care of it."

"So, Sam took off and left you behind, and now you're dithering over whether to call?"

Dean sighed. "I don't want to interrupt and get him hurt."

"But…"

"But he took off again, Bobby," Dean said. "I seem to spend half my life waiting for him to come back. I know it's not always his fault. He's got crap to do. But this morning we spoke about me taking up with him on the hunt, and he seemed down for it. I don't understand how that's going to work if he keeps dumping me." And now he sounded like a child, whining about missing the party. It wasn't that. It was just he wanted to be a part of it, whatever it was Sam was doing.

"Then go find him," Bobby said. "Can't be that hard. From what Jo said, that Ash is a genius. It shouldn't be too difficult to track him down. We can go find him, help him out with whatever he's doing, and show him you're capable at the same time. From what you've told me and what I've pieced together when I've seen him, he's as stubborn as your daddy ever was. He needs you to _show_ him you're up to the task if he's ever going to let you join in properly." He paused and went on. "He's scared, Dean. Scared for you. We all are. Until he breaks this deal, you've got a one-way ticket to hell. If something happens to you, that's where you're going. It makes sense that he's trying to keep you out. If you want to hunt, if you're sure, you have to prove it to him."

Dean grinned. That made sense. Sam wouldn't be happy when Dean showed up on his hunt, but Sam was rarely happy anyway. A little extra bitch facing wouldn't hurt.

He got to his feet and walked to the bar where Ash was tapping away on his laptop between sips of beer. Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Ash, I need a favor."

Ash looked up. "What can I do for ya?"

"I need you to find Sam for me."

Ash groaned. "Awww, man, this is not going to end well for me."

* * *

They had tracked the man Tamara and Isaac had seen on the security camera to a bar in town. They tooled up with holy water and a stake of Palo Santo Tamara and Isaac owned. Sam had heard of it—it was supposed to lock a demon down—but had never tried it, so he was curious to see whether it would work. The plan was simple. Sam was going into the bar to test the waters with their guy, drop a little holy water on him, and then if he was their demon, they would knock him out and get him back to Tamara and Isaac's place for a chat about his six buddies—assuming Sam's theory was right about him being one of the sins.

He'd read about the seven deadly sins as demon origins in his quest for a weapon against the yellow-eyed demon, and the envious behavior of the killer and the sloth of the family made him think he was on target. It was not going to be the easiest hunt he'd ever taken, but he'd faced worse odds alone before. This time he had Isaac and Tamara.

He tucked the flask of holy water into his jacket pocket and made for the door to the bar.

"You sure about this?" Isaac asked behind him. "It'd be better if we were all in there, right?"

"It'll put him on guard," Sam argued. "Me alone won't look so suspicious."

"I'd look even less suspicious," Tamara said. "Woman on her own. I could—"

"No!" Sam and Isaac said in unison.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I am just as capable as you."

"You are, honey," Isaac agreed quickly. "But this is Sam's call. He's the demon guy."

She started to say something, but Sam had already turned away and pushed open the door. He ambled over to the bar to stand beside the guy they'd seen on the tape and set down a bill. "Whiskey please."

The bartender, a pretty, dark-haired woman wearing an apron around her waist, smiled at him. "We're out. Have this instead." She slammed a gallon bottle of Drano down on the counter and pulled off the cap." Drink up."

Sam frowned and then understood as her eyes flashed black. He turned and took in the room. Including envy guy and the bartender, there were seven people other than him there.

"I _said_ drink up."

Sam felt something in his mind, almost the same feeling he'd had when Andy had tried to use his compulsion on him back in Guthrie, but just like then, he could resist it.

"I don't think so," he said. "I'm good."

"Well, well, well, the stories were true," the demon posing as a bartender said. "Boy King Winchester has powers that us mere infernals can only dream of."

"You think that's cool, wait till you see this." He pulled the bottle of holy water out of his pocket and splashed it over her face. She shrieked as her skin sizzled and smoked, and Sam felt the other demons pressing in on him. He spun on his heel and whipped the bottle through the air, splashing them all. For badass demons, they were just as susceptible to pain as any other Sam had met. They hissed and cried out, pulling back from him.

"A little help!" Sam shouted, hoping Isaac and Tamara had finished their domestic dispute and would hear him. He grabbed a bottle of beer from on the bar and smashed it over Envy's head, knocking him out cold, just as the front wall of the bar collapsed as the Impala crashed through it. Isaac and Tamara jumped out, their own bottles of holy water in their hands which they swept through the air, driving the demons back.

Sam grabbed the unconscious Envy under the arms and dragged him to the trunk of the car. He yanked it open, and shoved the demon in hard, hitting his head against the rim as he did. He figured little more unconsciousness wouldn't hurt.

"We're out of here," he shouted, throwing himself in behind the wheel. Isaac and Tamara emptied their holy water onto the writhing demons and then made their way to the car, Isaac watching Tamara's back. They flung themselves in and Sam gunned the engine, switching through the gears and reversing out of the ruined bar.

"Well," Isaac said as they turned and made for the main road. "That was fun."

* * *

Dean knew they'd found the right house as soon as Bobby pulled the Chevelle to a halt out front—not that he'd really doubted Ash's ability to track GPS. The front door had been crashed open; It hung awkwardly from its hinges. Dean reached for the door to get out but Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, boy. No sense running in there without thinking."

"Sam's in there," Dean said.

"Exactly. Your brother, a damn good hunter who just happens to be looking for an excuse to bench you, is in there watching. Let's get you loaded up first." He handed Dean a hip flask of holy water and a long knife. "It won't kill em, but you get one from behind you can sure damage a spine. Slows them down, you know."

Dean nodded impatiently. "Anything else?"

Bobby considered for a moment. "Nope. Let's go show your brother what you're made of."

There was a devil's trap and salt line at the door, but the line was broken and the devil's trap had a crack running through it where the floorboards had lifted. Dean crept forward, Bobby close behind him, and looked around. There was sound coming from around him, but no one in sight. Someone was chanting Latin nearby, but it wasn't Sam, so Dean disregarded it.

Bobby tapped his shoulder, and Dean turned and nodded when Bobby gestured at himself and the stairs. Dean would take a ground floor rooms. Bobby crept away up the stairs and Dean made his way to the left door, his holy water gripped in one hand and his knife in the other.

There was a man inside the room with his back to him. Dean pulled back the knife and prepared to thrust it into the thing's back, but it turned and grinned. "Dean Winchester," he said happily, blinking black eyes. "I was so hoping to have a chance to meet you. My poster child."

"Your what?" Dean asked, momentarily distracted.

"My apologies. How rude of me. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Pride. And you, you are all about pride."

He sauntered forward, and Dean stepped back. "You're Pride?"

"I am, and you, my friend, are the very definition of proud."

"I am?" Dean asked, trying to distract the demon while he came up with a plan.

"Oh yes. Proud of your super-special life. Proud of all the children you've helped." He leered. "Proud of the deal you made. Hero Dean to the rescue. I know all about you."

"You know nothing about me," Dean said.

He stepped forward. "I know where you're going when I snap your neck. I just left the place in fact. You'll love it."

Dean dropped the knife, it was useless anyway, and lifted the holy water. He swept it through the air, sending droplets onto the demon. He hissed and backed away, and Dean made for the hall. Better to fail to prove a point than to die, he figured. He would find another way to show Sam he was good for the hunt.

Just then, he was knocked back as a woman with long blonde hair raced through the door, pushing him aside with a hand to his chest. In her hand was a knife with a wicked looking blade and wooden handle. Dean watched as she kicked Pride in the chest, shoving him back, and then thrust the knife into his throat. Yellow light, the kind Dean had seen once before, crackled around the wound and Pride dropped like a stone.

Dean gaped at her. "What the…"

She tossed him the knife and he caught it automatically. "Little brother's upstairs and in all kinds of trouble. Rescue time do you think?"

Dean raced from the room and up the stairs, shouting Sam's name. He heard a breathless reply that cut off suddenly with a grunt.

Dean followed the voice to a room off the landing. Sam was backed against the wall and two demons were facing him, one male one female. Sam's nose was bloody and one eye was darkening where it would bruise soon.

"Dean, get out of here!" Sam shouted.

Dean ignored him. He was already in motion. The demons had turned away from Sam to greet him at his entry, and gripping the handle tightly, Dean plunged the knife into the male's chest, right over the heart. The light crackled, but Dean didn't give it a moment's notice. He was already stepping back to dodge the woman's punch and then using her distraction as the aborted swing pulled her sideways to stab her in the throat.

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam asked breathlessly. "What was that?"

Dean grinned. "That was me saving your ass."

* * *

There wasn't much left to do. Isaac and Tamara had exorcised two of the demons, Bobby and Sam one more apiece, and Dean and the woman had killed the others. Only two of the hosts had made it out alive. Tamara and Isaac were dropping them off at the hospital now while Sam dug a grave out back for the unlucky ones.

"She just came out of nowhere and saved your ass?" Bobby asked. He and Dean were on the front porch talking. Sam had told them he didn't need help with the grave. Dean suspected it was more than stubbornness. Sam just wanted a moment alone.

"She did," Dean said. "This knife"—he tossed it from hand to hand—"killed the demons. I'm not telling Sam the part about her saving my ass though. I'm totally taking credit for that kill, too."

"Don't blame you. Hang onto that knife, as well."

"Damn right," Dean said. "It's going to be real helpful in future."

Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. "You did good, Dean. Sam'll see that."

"I hope so. Speaking of, I should get those bodies out to him."

"I'll do it," Bobby said. "I want a word with him anyway."

"Don't give him crap," Dean warned. "He doesn't need it and I don't want it."

"I won't. Just want a little chat."

Bobby ambled away, and Dean was left alone. He was examining the engraving on the blade, wondering what it meant, when it was snatched out of his hand. He looked up, expecting to see Sam, but it was the woman who had saved him before.

"That's mine," she said, tucking the knife in her pocket.

"Thanks for the loaner," Dean replied. "Don't suppose I can persuade you to extend it a while, can I?"

She shook her head, smiling slightly. "You're not the only hunter who comes across the occasional demon. A girl's gotta protect herself."

"You're a hunter?"

"No, dumbass. I'm a passerby who just happened to have a demon killing knife on me."

Dean smiled ruefully. "Thanks for what you did, stepping in like that. I'd be…"

"Dead without me," she supplied. "I'm aware, and you're welcome. You can buy me dinner sometime to thank me."

Dean held out a hand. "That's a deal."

She took it and shook, smiling sultrily. "I look forward to it."

"You going to give me your number?" Dean asked.

"No. I'll find you when it's time." She turned away and made for the road.

"Hey, wait," Dean called after her. "What's your name?"

She didn't even slow.

* * *

Sam hefted the heavyset demon over his shoulder and made for the back door.

"You want help?" Bobby asked behind him.

"No thanks," Sam said without turning. He carried the body out and dumped it unceremoniously into the grave he'd dug. He made to go back into the house but Bobby was standing in his path. "Do you need something?" he asked.

"I want to talk," Bobby said.

"What do you want to talk about?" Sam asked curtly.

"Dean."

Sam shook his head. He'd had the rundown from Ellen on just how devastated by Dean's deal Bobby was. She'd warned him to give the man space, and Sam had had every intention of doing that. He'd even left town, but now the older hunter and Dean had jumped his hunt.

"There's nothing you can say that I don't already know," Sam said. "I screwed up big. Dean's got a ticket to hell because of me. You hate that and me, and I get it. And you deserve a chance to ream me out for what I've done to him, but I'm just not in the mood, so just stow it and we'll do it some other time."

"I don't hate you, Sam," Bobby said mildly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Sure you don't."

"I don't," Bobby said. "You're still the kid who used to make me crazy with questions. You could also make me laugh on any given day with the things you'd come out with. I still care about you. I just wish I still knew you. I'm guessing Ellen filled you in on what I said about Dean's deal. You have to understand, I _do_ know Dean. I have been part of his life from a little while after your mom died to now, and he's important to me. I'd just heard that he was Hellbound, and I reacted badly."

"I get it," Sam said. He had reacted badly too when he'd found out. He'd been so angry with Dean. Why should Bobby's reaction be any different? The rest of the stuff Bobby was saying… Well, Sam really was tapped out as far as emotional moments went for the foreseeable future. Though it wouldn't be so bad to get to know Bobby again, he thought. He was definitely a good resource for hunting.

"I'm just…" Bobby adjusted his cap. "I just want to say I'm glad you're okay, Sam. And I want you to do something for me, though I know I've got no right to ask. Let Dean in. He wants to hunt. He wants to be your brother. He wants to help you. Let him."

But Sam had already let Dean in. He was family again. What more did they want? Sam wasn't a hugger or someone who could sit down and talk about his feelings and crap like that. He would show Dean he cared in his own way, starting with saving his life.

"I'll take that under advisement," he said, making for the house again.

"I really am you know," Bobby said to Sam's retreating back.

Sam turned. "Are what?"

"Glad you're okay."

Sam nodded. "Me too," he lied.

* * *

 **So… RUBY! I love Ruby's character. She's a prime bitch, of course, but an absolute delight to write. Hope you enjoyed her first appearance.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you Jenjoremy for the beta magic. Hugs to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help outlining.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Four**_

Dean drew in a deep breath and held it a moment before he pushed open the door of his former workplace. Jen was behind the desk and her eyes widened when she saw him. "Dean!"

He smiled at her. "Hey, Jen."

"Are you okay?" she asked. "We've been worried."

Dean's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Not okay really. A lot's been happening. Is Mike in?"

"Yeah, he's in his office." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Dean, he's pissed."

Dean nodded. "I figured he would be. I don't blame him." He straightened his shoulders and walked to Mike's office door. He knocked twice and waited for a reply.

"Come in," Mike's muffled voice replied.

Dean eased open the door. Mike's office was the standard brown and beech of them all. Unlike Dean's, it hadn't been dressed up at all to make it comfortable. It was clearly the boss's office. Instead of the desk facing the wall as Dean's did, it was in the center of the room so when you wanted to see him you had to sit opposite him like a kid called in to see the principal. It wasn't the most comforting environment, but Mike was damn good at his job, and the few kids he saw these days took to him well.

He was writing something on a legal pad and didn't look up when Dean entered. "Jen, if that renegade Winchester shows up, send him straight in," he said.

Dean cleared his throat. "Renegade Winchester reporting."

His head snapped up and for a moment Dean thought he saw a flash of relief on his face. He looked Dean up and down and frowned. "Well, it doesn't look like you've got broken bones or… What happened to your head?"

Dean raised a hand to the small cut on his forehead that he'd gotten when Yellow-Eyes slammed him into a tombstone. The cut was small but the bruise was now yellowing and dramatic looking.

"Bumped it on a cabinet. It's fine."

"And I'm assuming it didn't render you unconscious for a week, so why haven't we seen you?"

Dean pulled a chair back and sat without invitation. He felt even more like a schoolboy standing as he was. Mike watched him, eyebrow raised and waiting for an answer.

"You asked once who the kid was in the photo on my desk," he started, not answering the question directly. "It's my brother."

Mike looked thoughtful. "I assumed so. Did he die?"

 _You have no idea,_ Dean thought.

"No, but I lost him for a long time. Things happened when I was sixteen and I stopped living with my family. My brother was only twelve and I didn't see him again until a year ago."

"That's a long time to go without family."

"Yeah, it is. Point is, I went a long time without him. Now I found him again. Some stuff went down with him recently, and he needed me. I'll be honest. I was in it so deep I didn't even think of calling in."

"Must have been some pretty heavy drama."

"It was. It's settled a bit now though, so I can come in and tell you this. I'm leaving. I can't give notice and I can't explain why. Suffice to say, there are more important things for me to be doing now."

Mike blew out a breath. "You're quitting?"

"I am."

"Why?"

"Can't tell you. Just know I don't have a choice about it. This is something I've got to do."

"What about taking part-time hours? We can work around your schedule so you can be with your brother _and_ here."

"I appreciate it," Dean said sincerely. "But it just won't work out. I'm not going to be living in the area anymore.

Mike leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I had such high hopes for you, Dean. I've been thinking about mentoring you through your masters. I know you want it. You could have a bright future here. You're damn good at your job. Better than any junior we've had before. Why give all that up?"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn't deny it was as tempting as all hell. It was what he'd wanted for a long time. He'd planned to make a real career for himself. There were more important things in life though. Like family and saving lives—his own included. For all he knew, _he_ was the way the deal would get broken. He couldn't leave it all to Sam to mop up. He needed to be a part of it.

"I can't do it," he said regretfully. "You're offering me everything I thought I wanted, Mike, and it's amazing, but there's just more important things in my life now."

"This brother of yours, how would he feel knowing you're giving all this up for him?"

Dean smiled slightly. "He'd understand." Sam wouldn't expect any less of Dean after everything he'd already given up.

"There really is nothing I can say, is there?"

"Afraid not."

"Okay. I'll arrange your last paycheck to be cleared as soon as possible. I'm assuming you're going to need it. I can take on your cases until we can get someone else in, so you don't need to worry about your kids. One thing though, Dean, I can't give you a clean reference because of this. I can say all the good things, but this will have to be mentioned."

Dean smiled slightly. "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"You're giving it up for good?"

"Probably. At least for the foreseeable future." He shrugged. "It's what I've got to do."

Mike's mouth pressed into a thin line. "It must be." He held out a hand. Dean stood and shook it. "You'll be missed, Dean."

"So will you all. This job has been incredible."

Mike cleared his throat gruffly. "You better get going then. Sounds like you've got things to do."

Dean turned and walked out of the door. He took a deep breath as he did. Mike had reacted better than he had any right to expect, but it had still been harder than he'd guessed to give up this part of his life.

He forced a smile for Jen and went into his own office to pack up. He let the door close behind him before he relaxed and sighed. He should have brought Sam with him. He would've had a reason to suck it up and get on with it then.

Looking around the office, he catalogued his belongings: the framed posters on the wall, the cushions on the chairs and the photo on the desk. They had seemed to matter so much before, the little touches to make the place comfortable for the kids, but now they seemed pointless. He'd imagined himself packing it all up and carrying it home, but he wouldn't have a home much longer and they would be no use in the Impala. He sank down onto his chair and ran a hand over his face. He would leave the cushions and posters for whoever took the office next. Maybe he or she would be a classic rock fan—to Dean's mind anyone who wasn't just hadn't heard the right song yet. He picked up the photograph though. He was taking that.

He looked down at his younger brother's face as it had been when he'd known it best. When Sam seldom had to ask for anything because Dean had already preempted the request from reading Sam alone. He didn't have that skill anymore. He would maybe get it again. They could rebuild the rest of that bond they once had. Sam was already so different from the man he'd met at Bobby's almost a year ago. He was opening up. Just given a little more time, they could make it work.

He had turned away to leave, the photograph the only thing in his hand, when the door flew open and a figure burst in followed closely by Jen who said, "I'm sorry, Dean. I tried to explain—"

"What's she saying?" Mitch, one of Dean's toughest case kids, asked. He was a fifteen year old who had been in foster care since his mother decided she liked crack more than parenting. "She said you're leaving."

"It's okay, Jen," Dean said. "Me and Mitch need to talk."

Jen looked at him uncertainly and he nodded reassuringly. She slipped out of the room and clicked the door closed behind her.

"Have a seat," Dean said.

Mitch stayed standing. "What's she saying?" he asked again.

"I'm leaving," Dean said quietly.

Mitch practically fell into the chair. "You can't."

"I don't have a choice."

"Did you get canned?"

Dean shook his head. "No, but I've got to go regardless. It's not really a choice thing. It's a necessity."

"You're quitting on me?" Mitch asked, a tremor in his voice.

"Not you. Never you. I just… I have to go."

"What about me? Who's going to help me now?"

"You'll see Mike now," Dean said quickly. "He is, was, my boss. He's much better at this than I am. He'll look out for you."

"Not like you."

"I am sorry," Dean said again. "It's a family thing. I have to go."

Mitch's face flushed with anger. " _Family!_ Family just screws you over. You don't need them." He smiled grimly. "I make out fine without one."

"They're not always bad," Dean said. "Sometimes family can save you."

"Do you need saving?"

"I _did_ once," Dean said a little sadly. "I had people who helped me, like you do, and if you let them, they'll help you too."

"It won't be the same though. They won't understand like you do."

Dean had an idea. He pulled over a notepad to him and jotted down a number and handed it to Mitch. "This number is for a friend of mine. The man who helped me when I thought no one would. He'll understand what you're going through. His name's Sonny. Call him up and he can talk you through it. There's hope, Mitch."

"A phone number?" Mitch scoffed. "A magical man who can make all my problems disappear."

"A man who can help." Dean corrected. "I wish I could stay. I want to help you. But this is just something I have to do."

Mitch lurched to his feet. "Screw you! I don't need you or your crappy number. I'll take care of myself. I'm good at that." He made for the door and yanked it open. "Screw you, Dean. Just… screw you."

Dean jumped to his feet and followed, calling after him, but Mitch burst into a run. Before Dean could think of anything else to say, he was out of the door and running down the street. Dean watched him go and then turned back and walked inside, his heart heavy. He was on his way back into his office when Jen pulled on his arm gently.

"Dean," she said, "are you really going?"

"I am," Dean said.

Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Dean said. "This is important though."

"Will it make you happy?"

Dean shrugged. "Happiness is all relative. I'll be okay."

She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight for a moment then released him. Her hand came up to cup his cheek and she said, "It's not, you know, relative. You have to work hard for it. Don't forget to work."

Dean squeezed her hand and lowered it slowly to her side again. "I won't forget. Don't worry. I'll make out fine."

He went back to his office and closed the door behind him, leaning on it. He didn't know whether life on the road would make him happy. He had to try though. There really was no other choice.

* * *

Dean was in his living room, filling boxes with the few things that mattered to him. There was surprisingly little. Even after eleven years out of the life, he'd kept his possessions to a minimum as was his father's habit. There were still some things though that he didn't want to lose—his diplomas from high school and college, photographs of his family and friends, a few novelty gifts from kids that had been success stories. Other things, like Dean's textbooks, were in a box to be put out on the curb for the garbage truck.

It was hard for Dean to be going through these things because of the memories each thing evoked. Textbooks reminded him of college, of all night study sessions. An old tie made him think of his first ever proper date—the dance with Robin. There was an old photo of him with his college girlfriend, Beth. At the very bottom of a drawer was a switchblade—a birthday gift from his father, his first ever weapon that just belonged to him. That was harder than anything to see. It made him think of the graveyard and the—maybe—sight of his father.

Dean called to Sam and he turned from the fridge where he was emptying Dean's food into a trash bag—he'd seemed uncomfortable dealing with Dean's personal belongings, so Dean had asked him to do that instead.

"What's up?" he asked, coming into the living room.

"There's something we need to talk about," Dean said.

"Okay," Sam said slowly, perching on the edge of the couch. "What's that then?"

"Dad."

He'd expected a reaction from Sam, and he wasn't disappointed. Sam paled slightly. "What about him?"

Dean cleared his throat. "That night, when you… you know. I thought I saw… I thought I saw him."

Sam's face skipped grey and went straight to white.

"It could have been adrenaline. God knows I was out of my head with what had happened. But after you died, I think I saw him."

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes tight with emotion. "I saw him, too," he said quietly. "Before I took the shot. I saw him standing there. I thought it was just wishful thinking, or adrenaline like you. He was wearing the clothes he was wearing that day, though, and it looked so much like him."

"You think he was really there?"

"I sure hope so," Sam said. "The gate was open. If anyone's stubborn enough to claw his way out, it's him."

"Where do you think he is now?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Heaven has to be real, right?" Dean said. "I mean, Hell is, so Heaven has to be, too. He has to be there."

Sam pushed himself to his feet and walked away. He paused halfway back to the kitchen but didn't turn to face Dean. "I don't know, Dean. I hope so."

Dean nodded, even though Sam couldn't see. "Me, too."

* * *

Dean was in his bedroom, emptying the closet onto the bed. Beside the pile was an empty duffel. Sam stood on the other side of the bed, quiet and thoughtful, as Dean worked through what he would need.

"You'll want that suit," Sam said as Dean started to put it to the side. "You'd be surprised how often we'll have to suit up for the job."

Dean turned. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. The job's changed since your time. Sometimes it's necessary to go in as feds, and the local yokels tend to see the suit and badge and nothing else." He considered. "Why do you even have a suit?"

Dean grinned. "I wasn't a hermit, Sam. I did go on dates, and girls love a suit."

Sam chuckled. "Of course they do."

Dean folded the suit carefully and placed it at the bottom of the bag. "What else do you think?"

"Whatever you're comfortable in really. And what you can fight in."

Dean sorted through the clothes, looking for concert t-shirts and picking out his most comfortable shirts. He grabbed a Huskers hoodie, too, remembering the nights they'd spent sleeping in the car as kids and just how damn cold it got.

When his bag was full, he folded the rest of the clothes, ready to drop by Goodwill. It was a sad statement about his life that he had three boxes of belongings and one duffel to his name. It was good though. Simplicity was key.

He went to the bedside cabinet and pulled out his passport and envelope of emergency cash. There was one other envelope in there, and he stifled a gasp as he saw it. He'd packed it away a year to the day after he sent Sam the last birthday card. It was the amulet Sam had given him the Christmas it all changed for his brother, the day Sam lost the last of his innocence. It had been too hard to wear it for all those years. It was a daily reminder of what he'd lost—even though the memory of Sam never left him—when he'd almost given up hope.

He tore open the envelope and tipped it out into his palm, feeling its familiar weight.

"What you got there?" Sam asked behind him.

Dean turned and held out his hand. Sam's face became a mask. "Thought you'd have lost that years ago."

How could he think that given the significance of the gift? It had been meant for their father, but Sam had lost his faith in John that day and placed it in Dean instead. It had meant so much to Dean, despite the heaping of more responsibility on his young shoulders.

He couldn't let Sam see how his simple statement affected him though, not when Sam had resorted to his mask to deal with it. "Nah, just kept it in here. Got it back now though." He looped the cord over his head and patted the amulet against his chest.

"You don't need to do that," Sam said, his mask fading to show discomfort.

"I do," Dean said. I want to."

Sam nodded and picked up the duffel. "Are we done here?"

"Yeah, Sam," Dean said quietly. "We're done."

* * *

 **So… Dean is packed up and ready to leave his life behind and become a hunter again. I have mixed feelings about that. I liked Social Worker Dean but hunter Dean is the one I originally fell in love with, so it's good to have him back.**

 **Thank you so much to all of you that are reading and supporting the story, especially those of you that are reviewing. It give me a real boost to keep going when I'm struggling knowing people enjoy what I write.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Huge thanks to Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for beta'ing and pre-reading.**

 **I passed something of a milestone with my last chapter. It included my millionth archived word of Supernatural fic. I want to thank all of you that have read, fave'd, alerted, and reviewed the stories I have written, giving your support to me at every turn. I can't express my gratitude enough.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Five_**

They left Dean's house late that afternoon. Dean put a call in to his landlord and told him he was leaving and that he could keep the last month's rent and the security deposit as remuneration. Sam packed the boxes and Dean's duffel into the back of the Impala while Dean was on the phone, so Dean was alone as he placed his keys on the kitchen table and then closed his door for the last time. It was a strange feeling, knowing he would never be back here. He'd been so proud of his little house when he'd moved in, and now he was leaving it all behind.

Sam slammed the car door, and stood looking over the roof at Dean. "You ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready," Dean said, coming down the steps and going to his bike. "I'll meet you at Bobby's."

They were going to store Dean's stuff with the older hunter before they set off for whatever came next. Dean had decided to stow his bike there, as well, seeing as there was no need for it when he could ride in the Impala with Sam.

Sam nodded and got into the car while Dean swung his leg over the bike. He revved the engine to annoy Ms. Rigby one last time—he thought her saw her curtain twitch—and then set off down the street after Sam.

Dean concentrated on the road instead of the thoughts trying to pelt his mind as they headed to the highway— _Are you really doing this? Giving it all up?_ It wasn't as hard as he'd thought. He knew he was doing the right thing. This was how it was supposed to happen. He belonged on the road with Sam now.

When they got to Route 77, Dean tried to tempt Sam into a race, roaring ahead of him, but when he looked back through his rearview at a mile marker, Sam had fallen out of sight. He considered slowing to let Sam catch up, but that seemed stupid. It wasn't like he didn't know the way to Bobby's. He'd made the journey so many times before he could probably do it with his eyes shut. He let the bike have freedom instead, weaving through the sparse traffic and hurrying him towards Sioux Falls.

Bobby must have heard the bike coming, and he opened the door as Dean turned off the engine and climbed off. Dean pulled off his helmet and grinned at the older man. "Hey, Bobby."

"Where's Sam?"

"A bit behind. I tried to get him to race, but he didn't take the bait."

"Suppose he's in no hurry to get here," Bobby said morosely.

"Thought you two talked it out."

"I talked, Sam listened. Maybe." He sighed. "Hell, I don't know. One thing I do know is that just because he's let you in, it doesn't mean his basic nature has changed. I can see that clear as anything."

Dean was uncomfortable. Sam _had_ let him in as much as he was able to now. It had been gradual over the months they'd been in contact, and it'd been solidified with Dean's deal. Any doubts Sam had held over them had been cast aside with that. Sam maybe just didn't have it in him to allow Bobby in as well. It was sad, because they'd once been so close, but that was the cost of the direction Sam's life had taken.

"He'll come around," he lied. "Sam's got a lot on his mind right now."

"No, kidding," Bobby said then forcefully changed the subject. "Don't linger on the doorstep like you're picking me up for prom. Come on in. I've got coffee brewing and beer in the refrigerator."

Dean followed him into the house and poured himself a mug of coffee. He'd save the beer for later. He took it into the library and sat down on the couch. Bobby's desk, usually chaotic, was even more so now, with at least six books lying open to different pages.

"Hunt?" Dean asked.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, actually, I'm looking up ways to break a demon deal. You got any ideas?"

"No," Dean admitted. "But Sam has. He said there's a name that might help."

"What's the name?"

"I don't know. He didn't share it yet."

"That's going to have to change," Bobby said. "If you two are teaming up, he needs to share this stuff."

"Yeah," Dean said. He understood Sam keeping things close to his chest though. He was basically their father all over again, and John Winchester had never shared anything unless he had to. Learned behavior from a parent was a powerful thing.

They sat in silence for a while then Bobby started quizzing Dean about the exact details of the deal he'd made with the demon. Despite the gravity of the situation, Dean only had half his mind on the topic. The other half was wondering where Sam was.

Thirty minutes after Dean arrived, he finally heard the Impala approaching. He went out to the porch to meet him and help bring the boxes in. Sam was stony-faced as he climbed out of the car and appraised the house again, perhaps uncomfortable being back here in Bobby's space, then he smiled grimly at Dean and opened the back so they could get empty it.

Dean took a box and carried it into the house. "Where do I put it?" he asked Bobby.

"Back room upstairs," Bobby instructed. "I've been using it as a kinda storeroom for a while. A little extra there won't hurt."

Dean thanked him and then went up the stairs. When Bobby said 'kinda storeroom' he meant packed to the ceiling with old books, furniture and a huge closet holding who knew what. Dean put his box on a pile of others and then went back for the others. Sam was already on the landing though, two boxes held against his chest.

"You own some heavy crap," he said with a small smile.

Dean laughed. "You can talk. I've lifted your duffel."

"Weapons, Dean," Sam said. "That's what you call weapons."

Dean lightened Sam's load and they went into the back room to drop them off. Bobby was at the desk when they got downstairs again, bowed over a book. He glanced up as they came in and said, "I've got nothing to feed you, but there's beer in the fridge and whiskey in the cabinet.

Sam's eyes were almost longing when Bobby mentioned whiskey. Dean knew he usually drank a lot, but he hadn't seen him with any alcohol since they'd found him loaded at The Roadhouse. He took pity on him and went to the bottle and poured him a measure. Sam took it gratefully and took a careful sip.

"I can go get us some food," Dean offered, talking more to Sam than Bobby. "There's a great place in town called Phillip's Avenue Diner. It does the best pie in the state."

Sam's mouth quirked into a smile. "Pie, huh?"

"Man's gotta eat," Dean replied.

"Yeah, that sounds good," Bobby said. "There's money in the canister on the shelf."

"We're good," Dean said. "I've got enough put by that we can make out on actual cash for a while. Any requests?"

"Whatever's good," Sam said.

Bobby considered for a moment. He knew the menu there well as he and Dean often visited when Dean was in town, and Bobby probably went there even more. "The Cuban Feast," he eventually decided.

Dean nodded. "Keys, please." Sam pulled them out of his pocket and tossed them to him. Dean caught them, said, "Be right back," and headed out in search of dinner.

* * *

For a full five minutes after Dean left, there was silence. Bobby turned pages in his book and Sam stared out of the window, then he went to his duffel and pulled the colt out.

Bobby looked up and his eyes widened as he saw it. "Can I see it?" he asked. "I didn't get much of a look before."

Sam handed it over. It was harder than he thought, but if his plan came together, Bobby was going to be hanging on to it for a while.

Bobby examined it reverently, turning it over in his hands. "It's a pretty thing, all right."

"Powerful, too."

"Yeah," Bobby said a little sadly. "I remember."

Uneasy at Bobby's tone, Sam hastened to change the subject. "I need more bullets for it."

Bobby looked up. "Really? Ammo-To-Go stock them, do they?"

Sam rolled his eyes, unamused. This was important and Bobby's sarcasm wasn't helpful. "No," he said. "I need you to make some."

"Sure, let me just get my magic bullet cast out and I'll have a dozen for you by the time Dean gets back."

"You're the only one I can think of that has a chance at working out what makes this thing tick," Sam said. "I can't go to my usual guy because he'd snake it. Who wouldn't?"

"You've got a point there," Bobby conceded. "But I don't know the first thing about this gun other than legend. I may not be able to do it, Sam."

"You have to," Sam said fervently.

Bobby frowned. "I get that it's a handy weapon, but you've been hunting this long without it and you've made out fine. Why are you so worried about it now?"

"Hunting?" Sam laughed harshly. "This isn't about making things easy for me. This is about Dean. If the hounds come, you'll need something to fight them off. This gun is the only thing I can think of that'll do it."

 _"_ _I'll_ need something," Bobby said shrewdly. "And where will you be while I'm fighting off the things that are hell bent on dragging him to the pit?"

Sam stared into his eyes. "If I have a choice in it, I'll be there fighting for him. But I've got to be realistic. I might not be here to protect him. I must have pissed off every demon in existence when I took out Yellow-Eyes. I'm betting I have a legion gunning for me now. I'm good, but I'm not invincible." He ran a hand across his scarred throat.

Bobby blew out a deep breath. "Dean is sure you're going to break this deal."

"I will," Sam said with certainty. "I'll break it at any cost, but I can only do that if I'm still alive. Like I said, I'm not invincible. You have to take up where I leave off if it comes to it."

That was Sam's greatest fear—that he would die before Dean. He had no doubt he'd be Hellbound too if he did. He hadn't lived a life deserving of Heaven. He could handle that for himself. But he couldn't let it happen to Dean. His brother deserved better.

"Okay," Bobby said. "I'll work on the bullets and I'll take the reins if you're not here. Hell, I'm fighting for him regardless, but you're going to have to help me, us. What's this name you got?"

"Ellsworth," Sam said. "The demon I took out said he was who I needed because she didn't hold the contract. I'm hoping this guy is the one that does, but if he doesn't, he can lead us to the one that does. If I can just find who it is and kill him, Dean has to be off the hook."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "It's a theory at least. What are you thinking? How are you going to track down this demon?"

Sam smiled grimly. "I'll find another demon and get the location out of it."

"You mean torture?" Bobby asked.

"You have an objection to that?"

"Well, it's not only a demon you'll be hurting. It's a human, too."

Sam had considered that, but it was collateral damage as far as he was concerned. If it would save Dean, it was worth it.

He locked eyes with Bobby. "So?"

* * *

Dean had noticed Sam would eat practically whatever was on offer, but when they went to a diner, he would choose salad or something similar, so Dean ordered him a noodle salad along with his and Bobby's own choices. The aproned guy behind the counter poured him a coffee and told him the order would be ten minutes. Dean went over to a booth and sat down to wait.

He was stirring his coffee, watching the small whirlpool it made, when someone flopped into the seat opposite him. He looked up, confusion on his face, to see the woman with the demon killing knife.

"Uh, hey," he said with an awkward smile.

She smiled back. "Good to see you again."

"Yeah," Dean said slowly. "Though I'm a little confused about how. Do you live here?"

She laughed softly, a pleasant sound. "I don't live anywhere. My home is my Mustang and the open road."

"A Mustang, huh," Dean said, momentarily distracted.

"Yeah, a '70 Mach-1. It's my baby."

Dean nodded. "I bet. That's a beautiful car."

"Says the man with the '67 Impala."

"That's not mine really. It's Sammy's."

She reached over the table and took his coffee. She took a sip and licked her lips. "Mmmmm, black, no sugar. Take it like a man."

Dean started to nod and he shook his head. "Who are you?"

"My name's Ruby."

"And you're a hunter?"

"I've been a part of that world for a very long time. Kinda like you, though I didn't take a sabbatical for eleven years."

Dean frowned at her. "How'd you know about that?"

She shook her head, amused. "You're big news in our world, coming back to the hunt. You must know that."

Dean remembered Jo telling him something similar in The Roadhouse once. That had been before his 'return' to the life, though. He was surprised news had spread so fast. Then he remembered Sam had once told him Ash was a gossip when loaded. He must have been tattling around the bar.

"So, that knife," he said. "That's really something. Where did you even find it?"

"It's been in the family a long time. Something of an heirloom. Demons are our business."

"Same for me," Dean said. "I could really use something like that."

"Ooooh, sounds like there's a story behind that," she said.

"There is," Dean said, and it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her about the deal. If demons were her business, she might have some helpful information about breaking deals. He held back though, knowing Sam wouldn't want him spilling his secrets to a practical stranger. "Maybe I'll tell you one day."

"I sure hope so," she replied.

"Order up." The voice came from the counter, and the guy nodded at him. Dean started to get to his feet, but she caught his hand and held him.

"What?" he asked.

"Estes Telegraph, Colorado," she said. "Check out the news from this morning. You'll find something to interest you."

"I will?" Dean asked.

She nodded. "A nice easy case to ease you back in."

"What makes you think I want a hunt?"

"Duh, you're a _hunter_ now, aren't you? Pack up with little brother and save some lives. It'll be good for you." She slid out of the booth and made for the door. She turned as she pulled it open and smiled at him. "See you again, Winchester."

* * *

Sam gaped at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"No," Dean said. "I think it's a case."

"We have a case," Sam said. " _You_ are the case."

"Yeah, but I've still got a year. These people might not have a week."

Sam turned away and scrubbed a hand over his face. Dean was stubborn, that was Winchester fact, but he wasn't usually stupid.

They'd finished their dinner and Sam had been midway through his third whiskey while Dean worked on his laptop when he looked up, eyes bright with excitement, and announced he had a hunt for them in Colorado. Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. Some girl had almost drowned in a stream, and there was a history in the area of deaths.

"We have to take it," Dean went on, speaking to his back. "These people need help."

" _You_ need help," Sam growled, rounding on him. "Dammit, Dean, how do you even know about this?"

"I saw Demon Knife girl at the diner," Dean said, unabashed. "She tipped me off."

Sam shook his head and looked to Bobby. "Back me up, will you."

"Maybe Sam's right—" he said.

"Maybe?" Sam scoffed.

"—You need to concentrate on yourself."

"I can't do that, Bobby," Dean said soberly. "Not while I know people are dying."

"People are always dying. People always need our help. And why can't the girl take the hunt herself? You said she was a hunter."

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "She took off before I could ask anymore. But, Sam, we have to go. The last victim was a kid."

Dean and his damned kids. He was going to risk his own neck for the sake of a stranger. They needed to find Ellsworth now, before he heard they were coming for him and went to ground. They couldn't go chasing across the country on a stranger's tip.

"No," he said firmly. "We're tracking the demon and that's that."

Dean raised an eyebrow, a mulish expression settling over his features. "How's about this. You go after Ellsworth and I take the hunt."

"Dean," Bobby said patiently, "you've been out a long time. Yeah, you've handled a couple demons recently, but you haven't faced any spirits or monsters in years. I really don't think you should be rushing into a hunt without backup."

"I've got to start somewhere. I'm not wasting this year chasing demons."

"Waste?" Sam asked quietly. "Saving your life isn't a waste."

"I know that, I'm just saying we can do both." He sighed. "Look, Sam, I'm taking this with or without you. You can come along, protect my inexperienced ass, or you can leave me to do it all alone."

Sam glared at him. This was not remotely fair. He couldn't leave Dean to hunt alone, he'd get himself killed, but at the same time he needed the demon.

"Maybe a few days won't hurt," Bobby said reasonably. "Dip Dean's toes back into the water as it were."

Sam stared at him, betrayal all over his face. Bobby was supposed to have his back on this. He wanted Dean safe as much as Sam did.

Bobby shrugged.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean said. "You know you can't let me go alone."

And wasn't that the truth. "Fine," he snapped. "One hunt. We take care of this and then we go after Ellsworth."

"Deal," Dean said, nodding happily. "Just one hunt."

Damn, hunting with a partner again was hard.

* * *

 **So… The boys are off on a hunt and Ruby made another appearance. Things are going to pick up on the action with the next chapter, so make sure you're here.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**

 **P.S. Sorry for the late update. FFnet was acting weird for a few days and I didn't want the chapter to get lost in the system before you guys read it.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you Jenjoremy for being the most fabulous beta. Hugs to SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all their help and support.**

 **Thank you all of you that are reading and reviewing. I love to hear from you all.**

 **Note 10/09/15 – I posted the unbeta'd chapter yesterday. Apologies.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Six_**

"How far out are we?" Dean asked, desperate to break the tense silence.

Sam kept his eyes fixed on the road. "We're still an hour away. Why don't you try to grab a nap?"

Dean felt like a child again, being told to shut up and sleep rather than bother his father. It was enforced by the fact Sam looked more like John than ever behind the wheel of the Impala, his face set in annoyance. The problem was that in those days it wasn't Dean annoying his father. It was usually Sam with his endless questions. _'Where are we going?' 'Why are we going?' 'Are we nearly there yet?'_ It had been Dean who had climbed into the backseat and distracted Sam with toys and talk and teasing. It was almost impossible to believe _that_ Sam was the same person who was driving now with his tight jaw and hard eyes.

Dean had seen Sam pissed hundreds of times before, but that was when he was a kid. He'd only seen him angry a few times as an adult: after Gordon's kidnapping stunt, when he'd been refusing—rightly—to believe his friend Jefferson had killed himself, and finally, after Dean got back to the cabin and found him alive after he'd made the deal. The rest of the time Sam had a pretty good handle on his emotions around Dean, resorting to the mask when needed. But he was pissed now, and he wasn't hiding it nearly as well as he thought.

"Look, Sam," he started, "I get that you don't want to take this case, but we'll be saving lives. That's important."

"You think I don't know that?" he snapped. "I've spent my life living by that. And I want to save lives. I want to save _yours_!"

"And you will," Dean said confidently, "just as soon as we get this taken care of."

Sam's fingers flexed on the steering wheel but he didn't speak.

Dean shook his head. He didn't want this tension between them. He never wanted it, but now more than ever he needed things to be right. They were going into a hunt, Dean's first non-demon hunt in twelve years. He wasn't dipping his toe in the life as Bobby had suggested; he was diving right in with abandon. He wanted this. It was going to be awesome. He'd save lives in a way he hadn't since he was a teenager. He wanted to enjoy it. What he didn't want was Sam's anger simmering throughout, making him feel like an asshole for dragging his brother along.

"C'mon, Sam. Let it go for a while. This is going to be good for us."

Sam glanced at him, eyebrow raised, and Dean guessed he'd sounded a little too _social worker_ for Sam's tastes.

"Hey, I know what'll make this awesome," he rallied. "We can stay at The Stanley Hotel."

"You're been here before?" Sam asked, and was that disapproval in his tone?

"The Shining, Sam," Dean said. "Remember?"

"I know the film," Sam said, still sounding lost.

"Course you do. We watched it. It was the late night movie one time when you were about… I don't know, ten?"

"About that, yeah. Scared the piss out of me."

Dean laughed and slapped his leg. "For the next month I would wake up in the mornings with you beside me in bed. You were terrified."

Sam smiled slightly, and Dean internally cheered at the change in mood.

"Dad was so mad when he heard what I'd done," Dean went on nostalgically.

Sam nodded, his smile still hovering on his lips. "I thought that hotel was somewhere in Oregon."

"Man, you don't know your King lore, do you?" The Stanley is the _real_ hotel that gave him the idea. They just used the hotel in Oregon for some shots." He sighed. "We _have_ to stay there, Sam."

"No, we don't," Sam said. "It'll cost a bunch, and if you're insisting on us ditching the credit cards for a while, we need to be careful with the cash. Besides, knowing our luck, it really will turn out to be haunted and we'll be stuck there for a month clearing the place out."

Dean didn't care about the hotel as much as he did the smile that was on Sam's face now. He was probably still pissed about the hunt, but he wasn't pissed at Dean, and that was a win, so he said, "Fine, but we're coming back as soon as the deal's off and checking it out."

"Deal," Sam agreed.

Dean grinned.

* * *

The linoleum was sticky. It clung to Dean's boots as he crossed the room to check out the bathroom—which thankfully wasn't as bad as the rest of the cabin. The towels looked clean and the sink was water spotted but not grimy. Dean ran the tap and was pleased to see the water ran clear instead of brown as the outside of the cabin would suggest. He'd stayed in worse places before on the road as a kid, but it'd been a long time and he must have gotten accustomed to being able to take his shoes off worrying about catching something.

"We have water," Sam said, sounding satisfied. "Power too." He flipped the overhead light on and off at the switch. "And the beds are clean."

"No WiFi," Dean pointed out, trying hard to keep his distaste for the place out of his voice.

"Not surprised," Sam said, dumping his duffel onto the first bed. "There's gotta be a place in town we can use though. These tourist spots unusually have internet cafés.

He sounded accepting. Like he didn't even notice the stains, the sticky floor, or the just plain dinginess of the place. Dean guessed he probably didn't. This was normal for Sam. What must he have really thought of Dean's comfortable, clean house?

They'd stopped at a gas station on the outskirts of town and after Sam had gone in to pay, he'd come out with the news that he'd found them a cheap place to stay the other side of town. It was a cabin so they'd have their space. Dean had been hopeful that it wouldn't be so bad, because the front office looked clean and well kept from the outside. So unless Sam had gone in there asking for their dingiest and most disgusting cabin—which, now that Dean thought about it, he guessed he might have done as a hazing ritual—they had just just been unlucky in their allocation.

Sam was changing out of the clothes he'd traveled in and pulling on a clean white dress shirt. "Suit up," he said. "We'll find somewhere in town we can check the papers and police files for some details on the victims, and then we can get to work."

"Okay," Dean said, pulling out his own suit and laying it on the bed. He drew a deep breath, held it for a beat, and then released it. Almost twelve years out of the life, a whole other life left behind, now he was back in the hunt.

* * *

Sam was good at the hand-to-hand stuff, Dean knew. He could kick ass and take down fuglys, but Dean didn't know he was a genius at computers, too. According to him, Ash could hack anything—he did the FBI databases just for fun—and he'd taught Sam some of his tricks.

They were sitting in a corner of a café that boasted free WiFi. They'd each ordered coffees, but they sat untouched as Sam focused on hacking the local PD's files, and Dean watched, trying to keep track of the commands and actions he used to do it. He got lost in a hurry though and figured he'd need to talk to Ash himself to get a lesson on it.

"Here," Sam said eventually, turning the laptop slightly so Dean could see the screen. "The victim's name is Jane Banks. Eight years old. Emergency called in by Park Ranger O'Donnell. Drowned in stream. CPR. Here it is, she's still admitted — University Hospital." He rooted through his laptop bag and pulled out a small leather flip wallet. "You ready for this, Agent Plant?" he asked, handing it to Dean.

Dean took it and saw it was a faked fed badge and shield. The work was good. He didn't think he'd have tagged it as fake if he'd come across it at work. The name though… "Agent Plant?" he said doubtfully.

Sam looked impatient. "We can't go in as Winchester and Winchester, Dean. We need covers."

"And Led Zeppelin is a cover?"

"It's always worked before." Sam shrugged. "Dad's idea."

Dean heard the note of sadness in Sam's voice, definitely unintended, and he forced a smile. "As long as we're not going in as Agents J & K."

Sam frowned. "Who?

"Men In Black! Dude, did you watch any movies without me?"

"Haven't seen it," Sam said dismissively. "Come on, let's get going."

Dean rolled his eyes and got to his feet. He was going to have to educate Sam in entertainment.

* * *

The drive to the hospital in Boulder took almost an hour, and Dean spent some of the time grilling Sam on FBI practices.

"Just act like you own the place and have better things to be doing than talking to whoever it is you're with at the time and you'll make out fine," Sam said.

"But this is a kid, Sam. We can't act like that with a kid."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Then I guess it's up to you to get the info from her. Kids are your thing, right?"

"Is that a criticism?" he asked.

"Did it feel like one?"

"Kinda," Dean said, and then realized he was acting like an oversensitive preteen girl. "Never mind. I'll do the questioning. What do we need to know?"

"Absolutely everything she remembers about what happened. If this is a case—"

"It's a case," Dean said. "There have been _five,_ almost six deaths."

"—then we have to hope that she remembers something other than getting a chest full of water."

Dean's mouth twisted with distaste.

"And I'm still not sold on the case part," Sam went on. "People drown. Just because mystery woman says there's something here doesn't mean there is. She could just be yanking your chain. You're the new guy after all."

"She wouldn't do that," Dean said automatically.

Sam glanced away from the road to give him an incredulous look. "You _like_ her?"

"I don't even know her."

"Doesn't stop you from wanting."

"I don't _want_ her," Dean said firmly. "I just think she's… useful. She saved our asses with that knife. She's given us this hunt." He lowered his voice. "She says she's up on demons. Maybe she can help us… with the deal."

"We don't need help from a stranger," Sam said firmly. "I'll fix this without her interference, thanks. He spun the wheel and they turned into a parking lot surrounding a large brown brick building with a large sign proclaiming it as _Boulder General Hospital_. "We're here."

They found a parking spot and got out of the car. Dean brushed down the front of his suit, smoothing the creases and glanced to the side to see Sam adjusting the collar of his shirt against his scarred neck. Dean let Sam take the lead through the main door and to the reception desk.

Sam held up his fed badge to the middle-aged, heavyset woman behind the counter and said, "Pediatrics?"

She leaned closer to look at his badge, looking uncertain for a moment. Dean was sure their cover had been blown, until she asked, "What's this about, Agent?" in a tremulous tone—it was just nerves.

"We're looking for the family of Jane Banks. Heard they might be here."

"Oh, the poor forest girl. Yes, she's upstairs. Fourth floor." She tapped at her computer for a moment and then added, "Room 415."

Sam nodded and turned away without a word of thanks, walking to the bank of elevators. Dean flashed the woman a smile and followed. When the door had closed behind them and they were alone, Dean said, "Act like you've got better things to be doing, right?"

"Did you think I was kidding?" Sam asked.

"No, I guess I just didn't realize how convincing you'd be."

"I _do_ have better things to be doing, Dean. I'm sorry if I didn't make nice with the empty-nester back there, but I'm in a hurry."

The doors opened and Sam swept out. He glanced at each room he passed, coming to a stop at 415 and reaching for the handle.

"Excuse me," a voice shouted after him, "Can I help you?" Dean saw a pretty woman, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing pale blue scrubs making her way towards them.

Sam turned, looked her up and down, and shook his head. "I don't think so." He opened the door and went in.

Dean hesitated awkwardly on the threshold before turning back to the woman and smiling. "Excuse my partner. We're with the FBI." He held up his badge. "We need to speak to the Banks family about recent events."

She examined his badge carefully, and Dean's heart raced as he waited for her to oust him as a fake, but she eventually nodded and said, "I guess that's okay. I'm Doctor Maynard; Jane's assigned to me. She's been through a lot so don't overexcite her."

"Not a problem," Dean said. "We want to talk to the parents more than her. We just need to get an idea of what happened."

"I thought it was an accident," she said.

"We think so, too, but we have to be sure," Dean said.

"Okay. Tell your partner manners are free. He'll find people are much more accommodating when he plays nice."

"I will," Dean said, nodding. "Thanks."

Sam was talking to who Dean guessed was Jane's mother when he got inside. His tone hadn't softened at all from how he'd spoken to the doctor, and Dean felt a stirring of unease. If he was planning to talk to Jane like this, too, they weren't going to get far.

"I just found her, face down in the water," the woman said tearfully. "My husband heard me screaming and he came. He saved her. CPR. I panicked. I didn't think."

"Completely understandable," Dean said smoothly, speaking before Sam could. "Did you see anyone else there?"

She shook her head. "It was just the three of us. We were hiking. There were others in the campground, where we were staying, but we were alone." She shuddered. "I am never camping again."

Throughout their conversation, Jane herself had remained silent, sitting up in bed with a book on her lap. Dean turned his attention to her. "Hey there. Jane, isn't it?"

She nodded and spoke in a whisper. "Yeah."

"My name's Dean. Can I sit down?"

She pulled her legs to the side and Dean perched on the edge of the bed. "That a good book?"

She smiled slightly. "My favorite."

"What's it about?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Fairy stuff."

Dean raised an eyebrow. That wasn't a topic he had much experience with. He grappled for something to say. "Do you like fairies?"

"Sometimes. Nice ones."

Sam cleared his throat and stepped over the bed, saying, "Jane, we need to ask you some questions about—" but Dean held up a hand to stop him. Sam may be a damn good hunter, an even better fed impersonator, but when it came to kids, Dean was the one who should take the lead.

"Jane," he said softly. "I know it's scary, but can you tell me about what happened?"

Her wide blue eyes looked up at Dean and they were wet. "I got frightened. I lost Mommy and Daddy."

"How did you lose them? Did you wander off?"

"Mommy and Daddy were laughing, we were playing hide-and-seek, and I heard the song."

"Song?"

"Pretty music," she said quietly. "I liked it. I wanted to hear more. It was quiet. So I left my hiding place."

"And you came to the stream?" Dean guessed.

"Yeah, and I…" She sucked in a breath. "I fell down. And it was scary. And then Daddy and Mummy were back and it hurt here." She rubbed at her chest. CPR injury, Dean guessed. It was common for ribs to be injured with compressions.

Dean catalogued what they knew. She'd been lured in by a song of some kind. She fell or was pushed into the water, and that was it until her resuscitation. The only thing they really had to go on was the song.

"You've been very brave telling me this. It will help us a lot," he said.

She smiled slightly.

"How has she been helpful?" her mother asked. "Do you think someone else was involved in her… accident?"

"No," Sam said curtly. "Like she said, she fell. It was just an accident. We know all we need to know to close the case."

Jane's eyes were on Sam, and she looked upset again as he essentially canceled out Dean's praise. Dean ducked his head so he was in her line of sight again, and said, " _Very_ brave, Jane. Okay?"

She nodded but didn't look convinced. Dean sighed. Sam _really_ wasn't good with the kids.

* * *

It was late afternoon when they got back to Estes Park, and Sam drove them straight to the diner. Dean thought they were stopping for food, and he was relieved because he was hungry, having only eaten breakfast in the early hours before they left Bobby's for Colorado, but Sam didn't order food when they had a table. He ordered coffee only, pulled out his laptop and got down to work, leaving Dean to sit idly at his side.

Bad with kids, good with computers, Dean was learning a lot about his brother today. His determination to work out the case was something that didn't surprise Dean though, despite the fact he hadn't wanted to take it. It was John Winchester all over. Like John had been, Sam was intense when researching. His eyes were fixed on the laptop screen and he scrolled down the pages faster than Dean could read them. He jotted down notes on a pad and flipped back and forth between pages over and over again. He didn't even seem to notice Dean sitting right beside him.

"Want to switch off for a while?" Dean asked after a long time had passed in silence other than the clicking of keys and rustle of papers. "I can take the research and you can get something to eat."

Sam glanced up, seeming surprised to see Dean sitting beside him still. "What? Uh, no, I'm good. You eat though." He turned back to the laptop.

"I'll get you something," Dean said as he got up and made his way over to the counter where a young woman was pouring coffee for a couple of college looking kids. She came to Dean and he ordered BLTs for them both. He leaned back against the counter and watched Sam work. He seemed to have figured something out as he pulled two sheets of paper from his notepad and compared them over and over, a small smile on his face. Dean pushed away from the counter and went back to their table.

"You got something?" he asked.

Sam nodded and smiled. He turned the laptop and tapped the screen. "Nixie."

"Sorry?"

"It's called a Nixie," Sam said. "At least it's what I think it is. Scandinavian water spirit. Always males. They use violin music to lure people into lakes and streams where they drown."

"Violin?" Dean asked and then dropped his voice. "We're going to kill a violin playing fugly."

"First time for everything, right?" Sam laughed softly.

"Okay," Dean said slowly. "And we kill them how?"

"Steel. We just need to injure them fatally with steel." He nodded energetically. "We've got to lure it out somehow though."

"Bait? Maybe if we get close enough, it'll come for one of us. We just have to find the spot Jane went in and wander around looking weak."

"No," Sam said. "It won't come after me; I'm too obviously in the job. These things are centuries old. It'll know about hunters."

"Then we'll use me."

"Let it drown _you_?" Sam asked incredulously. "I know you're easing back into the hunting thing, but the goal is for _us_ to live and the fugly to die."

"It's a stream, Sam. It's not going to be able to drown me in a stream." He didn't even know why he was pushing so hard for it. It wasn't like he wanted to risk drowning. It was maybe because he wanted to prove himself as competent in front of Sam. He wanted to be seen as a hunter rather than a kid dragged into the life again. He needed to reassert his abilities.

"Five deaths, Dean," Sam said. "And they weren't all kids. Just no. We'll find some other way to lure it out." He looked up then as the waitress came to their table with their sandwiches.

"Here you go," she said cheerfully, setting down the plates beside the laptop and papers. "Enjoy."

Dean thanked her and Sam nodded and then turned his attention back to the laptop.

"You not eating?" Dean asked.

"You eat," Sam said. "I've got to find us a way to lure this thing out."

Dean pushed aside his plate and pulled out his phone.

"Who're you calling?" Sam asked.

"Bobby. Maybe he's come across something like this before." He dialed quickly, before Sam could tell him not to and then waited for Bobby's answer.

 _"Singer."_

"Bobby, it's me. We need a little help…"

 _"What can I do for you?"_

"Have you ever heard of a Nixie?"

Bobby huffed out a breath. _"Boy, do you think I came down in the last rainstorm? Of course I've heard of a Nixie…"_

* * *

They each had a knife, and it was agreed whoever got the clear line of sight would take it down. Dean tucked his into a jacket pocket, not wanting to scare the crap out of any random hikers they met on their way. They had a trail marker to aim for and a map and compass, which Sam carried—revealing another surprise set of skills as a trailsman.

When Dean had questioned it, he'd rolled his eyes and said, "Once you've spent a weekend lost after tracking a Wendigo, you bulk up on the knowledge so it doesn't happen again."

"How did you get out?" Dean asked.

"We wandered around aimlessly until we found the road again," Sam said. "Man, Dad was _pissed._ "

Dean smiled. It wasn't often that Sam would mention their father, revealing small clues about their lives together without Dean, but he was always happy when it happened as it made him understand them both a little more, even though it was sometimes painful.

They walked mostly in silence through the forest, Sam stopping occasionally to check the map against the trail markers they passed. He seemed serene as he walked with purpose, but Dean was a little nervous. This was a big deal, his first hunt that didn't involve a trapped demon. The Nixie was going to be able to run and attack and possibly drown them in a few inches of water. It wasn't the most reassuring prospect.

They came across the stream after a couple of hours walking, and Sam stowed the map and compass away, trusting the water to lead them to the right spot instead. They walked on for another thirty minutes before Sam came to a dead stop and cursed.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

"We're here," Sam said.

"And that's a problem because?"

"We've got company."

Dean looked past Sam and noticed the tent pitched by the trail marker for the first time and the man sitting in front of it. He was dressed in the green uniform of a ranger.

"Oh."

Sam squared his shoulders and walked forward toward the man, pulling his fed badge from his jeans' pocket as he did. Dean followed.

The man saw them coming and stood. "Gentlemen," he said. "I'm going to have to ask you to move along from this spot."

"Funny," Sam said. "I was going to say the same thing to you." He held his badge under the man's nose. "We need the area clear for an investigation."

The man peered from the badge to Sam's face. "Fed, huh?"

"That's right, sir," Dean said, stepping forward with his own badge. The ranger plucked it out of Dean's hand and examined it carefully. A smile crept over his face, and Dean knew they were busted.

"Well, Agent _Plant_ , I call bullshit. You're not feds. Why would feds care about what's been happening here? I'm going to have you gentlemen to _ramble on_ and leave me to do what I do best."

Dean stuffed the badge back in his pocket and looked down at the ground, mortified.

"Actually, Ranger Smith, you're going to go and leave _us_ to do what we do best while you go chat with Yogi."

Dean bit his cheek to keep from smiling.

Ranger Smith crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not leaving this spot."

"Fine," Sam said idly. "Stay. Just make sure you stand well back and try not to drown."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Are you making a joke out of what has happened here?"

"No," Sam said. "I'm warning you. See, you've got a serious problem here, and we're the only ones who can take care of it. You can sit here and play guard if you like, but just know you're as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike. In fact, you're even more useless, because we'll probably end up having to save your ass."

"What are you talking about?"

Sam heaved a breath. "There's something happening here that's beyond your tiny mind to understand. A monster is living in this stream, and we need to take it out before it kills anyone else."

"Boy, you're crazy."

Dean heard the doubt in his tone, but there was something more. Relief, maybe, that his suspicions about the deaths were being reinforced by Sam and his 'crazy'.

Sam shrugged. "You're not the first person to think so. Of course that's usually followed by apologies after I prove I was telling the truth and then thanks for saving their life. How about we skip that part and you just go now?"

"We're not lying and we're not crazy," Dean interjected. "And I think you know that. There's something happening in this forest that you can't explain. These drownings don't make sense. Listen, you can stick around, watch as we deal with it and have your whole world view changed, or you can go and save yourself the trauma."

The man chewed his lip, deep in thought. Sam started to say, "I will drag you…" but Dean cut him off with a hand on his chest. The man was coming round, he could see. He just needed another minute.

"You can stop the deaths?" he asked.

"We can," Dean said before Sam could answer. "But you don't want to be here for it."

Sam tapped his foot impatiently.

"Okay," the ranger said. "I'll go, but I'm not going far. And for God's sake, don't drown."

Sam snorted. "We'll do our best."

Dean took him by the arm and led him away, speaking in a low voice. "Look, you go back a mile and we'll tell you when it's over."

The ranger nodded. "If you're not feds, which you're not, what are you?"

"We're brothers," Dean said.

"Well, no offence, but your brother is a real dick."

Dean smiled grimly. "Sometimes, yeah, he is. The rest of the time, though, he's a hero."

* * *

Dean saw the ranger off and then made his way back to Sam. He almost expected Sam to have the Nixie summoned already and maybe even dead, but he was standing beside the stream, tossing the knife from hand to hand.

"Ready?" he asked Dean when he got close.

Dean took his own knife from his pocket. "Ready."

Sam pricked his finger with the tip of his knife and squatted over the stream.

"Bobby said just three drops, remember."

"Got it," Sam said. He squeezed his finger and let three drops of blood fall into the stream, then he straightened and stepped back, wiping his hand on his jeans leg.

There was nothing for a moment, and Dean thought maybe Bobby had bad information or it hadn't worked for some reason, but then the water began to flow faster, rushing past them.

Dean's hand tightened reflexively around the handle of his knife.

"Come on," Sam mumbled. "Come and get it."

The water rushed even faster, and a shape began to form on the stream bed. It looked like a man, dressed in rags, with dark hair that fanned out around his head.

"Gotcha," Sam breathed, lurching forward, knife outstretched.

In an unnaturally fast move, the Nixie moved until it was standing in the stream twelve feet from them. Water dripped from it and its hair was lank around its face that was twisted with something like fear. "Don't hurt me!" it gasped.

"You're kidding, right?" Sam growled. "You've killed how many people and you're asking us for mercy."

"I didn't _mean_ to," it said desperately. "Please, listen to me."

Sam shook his head, but the thing had Dean's attention. He reached out and gripped Sam's arm and said, "Just wait a minute. I want to hear this."

Sam huffed impatiently but didn't make a move to attack again.

"We're listening," Dean said. "Talk."

"I can't help it. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. It's the music that draws them in."

"Maybe put away the violin," Sam said bitterly.

"It's not a real violin," the Nixie said. "It's my voice in my true form. Violin is the closest a human can come to it."

"Then take a vow of silence."

"I _can't_ ," it said desperately. "It's how I live. I can't control it anymore than you can stop your heart. I am peaceful."

"I have five bodies and a half drowned kid who'd disagree," Sam said.

"She lives? The child lives?"

"Barely," Sam snapped.

"I didn't mean for her to hear. It's not my fault. This was done _to_ me. I had no choice in it."

"What happened to you?" Dean asked.

"I lived in the lake, so deep no one could hear my song," it said. "But someone came with blood. I can't resist the call. It's my curse to be summoned. The blood drew me here and I was trapped. Until I am freed, I am stuck here, cursed to sing."

It sounded crazy, but Dean had seen a lot of crazy in his life. He could read people, too, and he saw the truth in this creature. It was obviously distraught at the deaths it had caused, deaths it had no control over. He pitied it for its fate.

"Can we get you back to the lake somehow?" Dean asked. "What if we draw some blood there? Will it pull you back?" He waited for a response, pointedly not looking at Sam so he didn't have to see how pissed he probably was right now—forced into a hunt he didn't want only to have Dean deny him the actual kill—but the Nixie didn't speak. It's wide, terrified eyes were on Sam, but not another part of it moved. It didn't even seem to be breathing.

"You feel sorry for it?" Sam asked, and he didn't sound scathing or angry, he sounded… satisfied?"

"Don't you?" Dean asked in return. "It's not like it can… Sam!"

It was too late. Sam was already attacking. He and thrust the knife into the chest of the Nixie, right over the spot a human heart would be. The Nixie seemed to come back to life just in time to die. It raised a hand as if to cover the wound, then its eyes rolled and it fell backwards into the stream. The blood from the wound mixed with the water and flowed away.

"Sam!"

"You felt sorry for it," Sam said, definitely satisfied now.

"Of course," Dean said. "You didn't have to kill it. We could have gotten it back to the lake somehow."

Sam shook his head. "Not once it was paralyzed we couldn't. It wouldn't have been able to answer a summoning like that."

"How was it paralyzed?"

"Part of the lore is that it is paralyzed by pity—its one weakness. The paralysis lasts as long as the feeling lasts, and I figured you'd be pitying it a long time, so I put it down."

"But if I'd known that I would've…"

"Not pitied it?" Sam asked, amused. "Dean, you can't control crap like that. Besides, there are five dead people avenged now, and no more will join them. I call that a win."

"You knew, didn't you? You knew I'd pity it. It was your plan all along to use me to kill it."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!"

"This is hunting, Dean," Sam said impatiently. "You rocked it. I couldn't have killed it without you. Be happy. Your first run out was a success."

Dean glowered at him, but Sam seemed oblivious. He was hefting the Nixie over his shoulder and walking away.

Dean knew Sam was good, he _was_ a hero, but he had used Dean's own nature against the creature, and that made him feel betrayed.

There was a difference, it seemed, between knowing and being proud of how good Sam was and seeing the methods he would use to achieve his ends. If he would do this to save strangers, what would he do in his mission to save Dean?

* * *

 **So… Dean has had a bit of a jolt to reality regarding Sam's hunting habits.**

 **Gredelina1 really earned her hugs with this chapter. She was the one to come up with the Nixie and she did most of the research for it.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Jenjoremy did a fantastic job with this chapter. She not only fixed all my booboos and found the words I couldn't she spotted a flaw in explanation I'd completely missed. Thank you, hon. Thanks also to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help. They give up hours of their evenings to help me outline and hammer out the little details. This story would never happen without them.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Seven**_

Sam jerked awake in the middle of the night, hand reaching for the gun under the pillow. At first he thought it was the nightmare that had woken him, his brain's attempt to pull him from the horror of what he was seeing, but the then phone buzzed again and he snatched it up.

"Hello?"

" _Winchester? It's Kubrick."_

"What's up?"

" _I've got something you need,"_ he said.

Sam knew at once what he meant. "You've got a demon."

" _Yep. Me and Creedy were following signs, and we got the sucker. You still interested?"_

"Definitely," Sam said, already standing and shoving his feet into his boots. "Where are you?"

" _Wreford, a few minutes out of Junction City, Kansas."_

"I know it."

" _There's a small place we're using as a base just south of the river. Look out for the RV."_

"Will do. Can you keep it on ice till I get there?"

" _It's tied down and trapped nice and tight,"_ Kubrick said. _"It's not going anywhere."_

"Thanks, Kubrick," Sam said. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Sam ended the call and stuffed the phone into his pocket. He was almost of the door when Dean rolled over, reminding him that he was there.

Sam sometimes forgot he wasn't working alone anymore. He'd spent so long without a partner that it was natural for him to think in singular instead of plural when making plans, despite the fact Dean had been with him a while now. For a moment he considered letting Dean sleep, taking this one alone. It would be easier to get the information from the demon without Dean watching. Then Dean shifted again, approaching waking, and Sam thought he deserved the make the choice for himself.

"Dean!" he said, slapping his chest.

Dean jolted upright, his eyes still half closed. "What's going on?"

This was just one of the many differences between them now. When Sam woke up, he was alert immediately and reaching for a weapon, while Dean took time to wake and didn't even bother to go for the gun Sam had persuaded him to keep close by. Dean had scoffed at first, they were at the Roadhouse after all, but Sam had grimly reminded him that a demon got in once and there was no guarantee it wouldn't again, despite the traps laid down and the charms Bobby had given them after Sam'd taken down Yellow-Eyes.

"Demon," Sam said.

"Here?" _Now_ Dean was awake. His wide eyes roved the room and he snatched the gun up from under his pillow.

"No," Sam said, placing a hand over the barrel of the gun and pushing it down so it was pointed at the floor. "In Kansas. A couple other hunters have trapped it and they're holding it for me. I thought you'd want to come."

"You thought right," Dean said. "You think it's that Ellsworth?"

"I doubt we'd be that damn lucky. I think it's more likely that it's a foot soldier, but hopefully I can get Ellsworth's information out of it."

Dean nodded and pulled on a pair of jeans. He still hadn't picked up the habit of sleeping dressed so he could make a quick getaway when needed. Sam thought it was okay, though; he liked it even. Dean dressing down for bed was one of those things from his old life that he clung to. The more he clung to the easier it would be for him to slip back into that life when the deal was taken care of.

It didn't occur to Sam once that this might be the life Dean wanted for good now, hunting. Why would anyone give up what he'd had for the life of a hunter?

While Dean dressed, Sam went into the kitchen and jotted a note on the chalkboard above the stove, telling Ellen where they'd gone and that they'd be back in a few days in the shorthand they'd developed. That was new—letting Ellen know where he was. After what had happened in Wyoming, she was a little trigger happy with anxiety, so he reassured her when he could.

Dean came into the kitchen, glanced at the chalkboard and nodded, then shouldered his duffel and asked, "We ready?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Let's get gone."

* * *

Sam hadn't told Dean much about the demon and people they were going to until they were just outside Junction City around dawn. Dean didn't think it was distrust or a need to hoard information; it was just Sam being Sam. He was used to being alone and still didn't think of Dean as his partner. It didn't bother Dean much. He knew Sam would tell him what he needed to know when he needed to know it.

"The people we're meeting with are a little different," Sam said, breaking the silence of the past thirty minutes.

"Different how?" Dean asked.

"Creedy is a bit simple. He's a good enough hunter, but research and sometimes rational thought are beyond him. And Kubrick…" He considered for a moment. "Kubrick's is big on Jesus. Don't mention him or you'll be in for a long lecture that'll eclipse all else that's going on."

"I'll try to steer clear of the subject," Dean said with a smile. "It's not likely to come up anyway, is it?"

"With him, you never know. Dad had no time for them at all. I've had to learn to be a little more open minded when it comes to getting what I need."

Dean nodded. "Okay, no discussing Jesus and no Mensa type discussions."

Sam laughed softly. "One more thing," he slowed the car and glanced at Dean. "Do not mention Gordon."

"Psycho Gordon who kidnapped me and tried to blow you up?"

"One and the same. He was buddies with them. Last I heard Kubrick thought he was deep undercover on something 'big', but it's been months, so he might be questioning it. I can't risk them finding out what happened. Remember, you never even met him, okay?""

"But if they understood what happened…"

"It wouldn't make a difference. I'm one of the rare ones, working alone the way I do—well, did—the rest have strong bonds, and they look out for each other. What I did to Jeff was different, he was a monster; Gordon wasn't."

Dean disagreed, Gordon was a would-be murderer going after Sam the way he had, but he didn't say anything. Sam knew this stuff better than him.

When they got to town, Sam made for the river and followed its streets until they came to what looked like an abandoned house—the windows were boarded up and the grass out front was long. Sam drove round back and parked next to a neat looking RV.

"Uh, you sure this is the right place?" Dean asked, eyeing the RV.

"What? Oh that. Yeah, it's right. That's Kubrick's rolling home."

"Huh, that's kinda smart."

"As long as you don't mind emptying the crapper and eating canned food, it's a treat," Sam said, grinning.

They climbed out and made for the house. Dean watched Sam's smile fade and become serious as they did. It was like he switched off his good mood and became a hunter. Dean wondered if he'd ever master that or if he even wanted to.

Dean heard the pained cries before he even got inside. Sam didn't even react to them, but Dean felt bile rise in his throat. This was not going to be as easy as he'd imagined. Sam pushed the door open and went in, Dean following a slower, trying to prepare himself.

"Winchester," a voice greeted. "Good to see you."

" _Winchesters_ ," Sam corrected, gesturing to Dean, "This is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Kubrick and Creedy." He gestured between the two men.

Kubrick had sandy red hair and a craggy face. Dean tagged him about late fifties. He smiled at Dean and held out a hand that Dean shook.

Creedy was a little younger, with dark hair and a groomed beard. Dean would have known even without Sam's heads up that he was lacking in the IQ department. He looked a little simple but good-natured as they shook hands.

"How've you been?" Creedy asked Sam.

Sam shrugged. "Same old same old. You get anything good lately?"

Kubrick shook his head. "Not much. We've been distracted with Gordon."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I heard his was still MIA. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Gotta hope he's in deep with a case still and not buried in a ditch somewhere by a monster."

"I wouldn't worry," Sam said. "Gordon's more than a match for any fugly out there."

Kubrick nodded. "You're not wrong."

Dean was impressed by Sam's lies. They were so smooth, easy for him. A stark difference to the kid Dean had known.

"So, where's this demon?" Sam asked, businesslike now.

"In here," Kubrick said. "We've been asking questions, but it's not exactly chatty so far."

"Not a problem," Sam said. "It'll talk."

They went into the second room, a kitchen, and Dean saw the demon for the first time. It was in the form of a middle-aged man dressed in a tailored suit and tie with damp short black hair—Dean guessed they'd been using holy water on him. A devil's trap was painted beneath the chair he was bound to and his hands and feet were tied to the arms and legs of the chair.

The demon sneered at Sam as he entered. "Winchester, I'd say this is an unexpected pleasure, but that'd be a lie. I've been waiting for you."

"And I've been waiting for a chance to speak to someone like you," Sam replied. "You've got something I want."

He raised an eyebrow. "What can the mighty Winchester Junior want from me?"

"Information," Sam said, turning back to Kubrick. "Have you checked it out?"

Kubrick nodded stiffly. "No obvious wounds. He might make it."

"Aw, you worried about my meat suit?" the demon asked. "I'll put you out of your misery. Hank here doesn't stand a chance. I ride em hard and put em away wet. He's dead as soon as I smoke out."

Sam shrugged. "Makes things easier. There's nothing to stop me from _really_ hurting you now." He dumped his duffel down onto the dirty counter, pulled it open, and produced a can of salt. "Open wide."

The demon clamped his mouth shut.

"A little help here," Sam said.

Creedy chuckled stupidly and stepped into the devil's trap. The demon snapped at his hand, teeth clicking together with a sound that made Dean's skin crawl, and Kubrick moved to help. He held the demon's head and tilted it back forcefully as Creedy gripped his jaw and forced it open.

Sam smiled grimly and tilted the can over the demon's mouth. It flowed in and the demon struggled and tried to pull out of their grip, but they were too strong. When the salt was overflowing from his mouth, Sam, Creedy and Kubrick stepped back looking satisfied. The demon whipped his head from side to side, spitting and snarling. The salt flowed down his chin, sticking to the holy water they'd apparently used before Sam and Dean's arrival.

"Want a drink?" Sam asked, holding up a flask of holy water from his bag.

The demon's black eyes widened and he shook his head jerkily.

"Sure? Might clear the taste from your mouth."

It was like watching a stranger at work for Dean. Sam, his little brother, was menacing and brutal. He hadn't expected him to be gentle with the demon, but this was something else. His thoughts drifted back to the Nixie and how he'd wondered what Sam would resort to in order save him, but he'd not expected this extreme. This wasn't the Sam Dean knew. He wondered if this was new, driven by desperation to get information to break the deal, or if this was just how Sam was now.

Dean couldn't help but remember there was a man inside there, trapped just like Dean had been when Meg possessed him. And the worst part was Sam hadn't even asked him anything yet. It was as if this priming the demon for information was just foreplay to what was to come when he got down to it.

As if Sam had heard Dean's thought, he crossed his arms over his chest and said, "We need to have a little chat."

"About what?" the demon asked, still trying to spit the remains of the salt from his mouth.

"One of your buddies. A demon called Ellsworth."

The demon ceased his spitting to laugh harshly. "So, the stories are true."

Dean wondered how the demon had heard about their quest to find Ellsworth. It wasn't like they'd advertised the name.

"What stories?" Sam asked.

"That you were looking for Azazel's crew." Seeing their blank faces, he went on. "This is too good. You don't even know his name. Yellow-Eyes, The Demon, whatever you called him, his name was Azazel."

"What's that about a crew?" Dean asked, speaking up for the first time. Azazel had been bad, Sam had killed himself to rid the world of him, if there was more of his 'team' out there, how safe was Sam?"

The demon spat once more and then said, "You don't even know? Azazel didn't work alone. He had a whole group of dedicated demons backing him up." It laughed again. "The word was you were hunting them down, but you don't even know about them, so what is it, hmmm? What reason has Sam Winchester got to go after Ellsworth?"

"I heard his birthday's coming. Want to bake him a cake."

The demon clucked his tongue. "Really, Sam, you're resorting to sarcasm. This is so unlike you."

"You know nothing about me," Sam said.

"I know plenty. I know what big brother did for you, making that—" His words were cut off as Sam tipped the flask of holy water over his head. His skin hissed and smoked, and Dean grimaced.

"Tell me about Ellsworth or it'll be a bucket next time," Sam growled.

"He was Azazel's facilitator. He organized them all. Kept track of who was doing what and to who. He was Azazel's right hand man after Meg and Tom were taken out."

Sam tilted his head to the side and picked up the salt again. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," the demon said, lying Dean was sure. His eyes faded from black to blue and widened innocently. "I never knew."

"Pity," Sam said. "That information was the only thing stopping me sending you downstairs again. Dean, you want to do it?"

Dean nodded stiffly. He would start the exorcism at least. Sam said it was wicked painful for them to be dragged out by the Latin. Maybe the pain would motivate the demon to tell some truth. He was aware of the direction his thoughts were taking, and he felt the coldness descend over him like a cloak. It was a feeling he hadn't had for a long time, not since that last werewolf when he was a kid, even though he'd been terrified then. He was angry now though, thinking of Yellow-Eyes and what he had done, what his demons could still do to Sam. He wanted to vent.

He locked eyes with the demon and started the chant. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"_

"Wait!" the demon shouted. "I can tell you things. Things that'll help you."

Sam shook his head and Dean continued.

"Please," the demon begged. "Don't send me back there."

"Then tell me where Ellsworth is," Sam said.

Dean went on with the Latin, encouraging the demon to speak.

"He's in Wyoming," the demon panted, writhing in pain.

"The Devil's Gate?"

The demon shook his head. "No. He's hiding where you won't go. He's scared."

"Where?"

The demon sucked in a breath. "Miner's Delight."

Sam nodded.

Dean drew a deep breath, and finished the exorcism with a grim smile. _"Audi nos."_

The demon's head flew back and the smoke poured from his mouth.

Kubrick moved to the man and pressed two fingers to his throat. He shook his head, and said, "No dice," but Dean barely heard the words. His focus was on Sam whose face was white.

"Miner's Delight," Dean said quietly. "Isn't that…"

"Yeah," Sam said grimly, a hand coming up to his neck. "That's the place."

Miner's Delight was where Sam'd had his throat slit. Now he had to go back.

* * *

Sam was quiet, thoughtful, and it was easy to guess where his mind was—that abandoned mining town where he'd almost died.

They had to go to Bobby's before they could set out for Wyoming because they'd agreed it was best to go in with the colt, and Sam asked Dean if he'd drive. Dean was more than willing to take a turn, especially as he knew Sam needed the time to think. It was good to be behind the wheel again, too. Dean had never made a good passenger. Ordinarily, they drove without music, the radio silent, but after they said their farewells to Kubrick and Creedy and got in the car, Sam reached under the seat and pulled out a battered box of cassette tapes.

"What do you want?" he asked Dean. "If you remember Dad playing it, it's in here."

Dean remembered Sam's angry reaction to Stairway To Heaven, so he asked if there was any Def Leppard in there. Sam nodded and pushed the tape into the deck. A moment later, Hysteria spilled from the speakers and Dean grinned. _This_ wasbetter. Like old times. It was what Sam needed.

When they stopped for gas, Dean called ahead to Bobby and let him know they were coming to collect, and Bobby promised to have it ready for them. They were passing the outskirts of Lincoln when Sam suddenly grinned inexplicably.

"I've got an idea," he said. "Actually, I have two. Take us through town. There's something I want to do."

Dean took a right and they made their way to Main Street. They passed a bakery, a diner, and a clothing boutique before Sam slapped the dash and said, "Pull over here."

Dean frowned and looked at the store they were passing. It was a small place, with black painted walls that stood out starkly among the pastel storefronts. Dean saw the sign over the door and laughed. "You can't be serious."

"Dead serious. Are you afraid of a little pain?"

"No," Dean scoffed.

"Then let's go for it."

Dean grimaced and glanced at the store again. It was a tattoo parlor.

* * *

"You realize this is kinda weird, right?" Dean asked as they drove into Sioux Falls.

Sam grinned. "Going for the colt or the Palo Santo? I think they're both good ideas seeing as we're going after a _demon."_

"Ha-ha. I was referring to our super new matching tattoos."

"Dean," Sam said patiently, "they'll stop us being possessed by demons."

"Yeah, but you can't deny it's a little odd."

"It's not like I got your name tattooed on my butt. Suck it up."

Dean shuddered. "Never mention my name and your butt in the same sentence again and we'll be good. And I'm just saying it'll look a little weird."

Sam laughed. "Because we spend so much time shirtless together. Around other people. People that won't recognize the symbol."

"Okay, you've maybe got a point there," Dean conceded.

Sam nodded, pleased. He was feeling better about their whole situation now that they had protected and armed themselves. They just needed the colt now and they'd be good to go after Ellsworth. Another day and Dean's deal would be broken and they could get back to their lives, Dean back to his kids and Sam back to the hunt, without this huge thing hanging over them.

He wasn't overjoyed to be going back to Miner's Delight, but he would handle it to get the job done, just the way his father had taught him.

Dean pulled them onto Bobby's road and Sam took a deep breath. He was uncomfortable around Bobby. The man was steeped in memories of his childhood. He had known Sam, and Sam got the feeling he still expected to see the young version of himself when he looked at him. It would never happen. Sam was a completely different person from the child Bobby had said goodbye to all those years ago.

In contrast to Sam's tension, Dean seemed happy to get back to his friend's place. For him it was a home the way that guy Sonny's place had been.

"We got time for food?" Dean asked. "Bobby's probably got something for us. For an ornery old guy, he's a good cook. Remember?"

Sam nodded silently, in answer to both questions. Yes, he remembered and yes, he was hungry. He had developed a propensity to forget things like regular meals these days. His head was so busy with everything else all the time. Dean's deal was a constant in his mind. When he wasn't directly researching to break it, he was thinking about it.

They came to a halt and got out. Dean led the way to the door and pushed it open without knocking, calling a greeting.

Bobby met them in the kitchen, wiping his hands on a cloth. Dean was right, there was a pot bubbling on the stove and the air was full of the scent of cooking. Sam's stomach growled.

"Hungry, boys?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah," Dean said eagerly while Sam nodded. He wasn't a boy. He wasn't Bobby's boy. And the moniker irritated him. He tried not to show it though. Bobby didn't mean any offence, and Dean seemed pleased to be referred to as that. Perhaps it was Bobby's way of claiming them. Perhaps it was just a name. Either way, Sam could do without it.

"Sit yourselves down and I'll dish up," Bobby said.

Sam sat opposite Dean and forced a smile for his brother. He would fake it until they could get the colt and get out of there. That wasn't too much to ask of him. Not for Dean.

* * *

Sam drove the rutted and ridged road slowly into the abandoned town. Dean was silent at his side, realizing the gravity of the moment for them both. There had been no laughing or joking on the way to Wyoming. They'd only spoken to go over their plan.

Sam had the colt tucked into his jacket, and Dean had the Palo Santo in his. Sam had reassured him that the sharp wooden stake would immobilize Ellsworth as effectively as a demon trap. They were going to trap the demon, they were going to question it, and then they were going to shoot it. They were going to break the deal. It was the only outcome Sam was going to accept.

He stopped the car and they climbed out, both looking up and down the old Main Street for a sign of the demon. Sam was assaulted by memories of the last time he was here, his father at his side. He pushed them away, focusing on what was important.

"Dean," he said quietly, gesturing to a ramshackle livery store on their right. Dean nodded mutely and went to it. He looked back at Sam just before he closed the door behind him and Sam tried to look confident and reassuring.

Sam took a deep breath, willed his racing heart to slow, and then shouted. "Ellsworth! Come out, you bastard!" There was silence for a moment, and then Sam heard footsteps on the dirt and rock ground.

"Sammy Winchester."

The man appeared around the side of the very store Dean was concealed in. Sam's first thought was that the man looked like a demonic Bobby Singer. His trucker cap was pulled low over his black eyes and he wore jeans and a faded back t-shirt under flannel. He even had a similar beard. He walked forward, fortuitously keeping his back to the door.

It was going to work.

Sam pulled the colt and pointed it at him.

"Oh my," Ellsworth said, raising his arms. "I didn't see this coming."

"I've been looking for you," Sam said.

"I know. I've been waiting for you. Do you like the setting for our little meeting?"

"Meeting?" Sam asked. "Nice. I heard you were hiding out. Makes sense you'd choose this place. Unlucky for you, I am not coward enough to refuse to come back."

"Hiding? Who told you that?"

"One of your demon buddies. Didn't catch his name before I sent him home."

"Demons lie," Ellsworth said.

Sam shrugged. "Doesn't matter why you're here. The point is that you are. That's enough for me. I am going to end you." Sam prayed silently that Dean had heard him. It was the code they'd come up with, both sure the demon would want to taunt for a while before it attacked.

He did. Dean practically flew out of the store, an inarticulate cry of rage coming from him. Ellsworth half turned and Dean corrected his aim from the demon's back to the center of his chest. Ellsworth was too slow to react. He was too stunned by what was happening. By the time he threw his head back and opened his mouth to smoke out, Dean had the Palo Santo buried in him.

Dean started back towards him, wide smile in place that Sam returned. It lasted a moment, the feeling of success and rightness, before Ellsworth was in motion. It reached into the back of his pants and pulled out a snub nosed revolver. Sam didn't even think. He had one thought in his mind — _Dean! —_ and he acted, running forward and knocking Dean out of the way.

The first shot went wild. The second didn't. It hit Sam like a hammer blow to his right gut. The force of it knocked him on his ass, and a hand came to his side, quickly to be covered with blood.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, and his face swum in Sam's vision for a moment. Sam blinked and it cleared. "Jesus, Sam."

"I'm okay," Sam said a little weakly. "Help me up."

"Help you up?" Dean asked incredulously. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"Not yet." Sam put a hand to his back, searching for an exit wound. There was none. "It's a through and through," he lied. "It just needs stitching."

"Sam you were just _shot!"_

"Not the first time." Sam struggled to his feet. He didn't think it was too bad. It didn't hurt so much. The bullet was probably just under the surface. He'd call someone in to help and he'd be fine. No hospital needed. Dean hovered at his side, hands reaching for him and then falling back. "Calm, Dean. Focus on what matters.

"You—" Dean started, but Sam cut him off with a hand on his chest.

Ellsworth was leering at them both. "Oh dear. Sammy Winchester is bleeding out in Miner's Delight once again."

Sam leveled the colt at him. "You shot me. How about I return the favor."

"You wouldn't. Not till you get your deal."

He was right, and Sam knew that the injury might be minor compared to what it could have been, but it was still enough for him to lose a lot of blood. He cut to the chase, knowing he could ask no questions unconscious. "I want you to tear up Dean's contract. I want him off the hook."

Ellsworth laughed. "Are you kidding me? You think _I_ hold that? Boy, you're dumber than you look."

He wasn't lying, Sam was convinced. He knew liars. He was one professionally. "Then who does?"

Ellsworth grinned. "The boss."

"Sammy," Dean said tugging on his sleeve. "You need help."

Sam pulled his arm free; the swift movement made his head swim. "Give me a name," he said, his voice sounded distant to his own ears.

"Not a chance," Ellsworth said with satisfaction. "I do that and I'll be facing a fate worse than anything you can cook up. Exorcise me, kill me, do what you like. You better hurry though. I think you're dying."

Sam thought he just might be right. His vision was blurring and the pain was searing as the adrenaline wore off. He turned to Dean. "Call Bobby. Have him interrogate. No exorcism without the name." He drew a deep breath. "If they come, use the colt."

"But…" Dean started. "Sam!"

Sam's legs gave way and he fell hard on the ground. Dean's blurred face hovered over him, and his mouth was moving and Sam tried to focus on his voice rather than the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

"You're okay. Going to get help."

Sam's eyes slid closed against his will, and as darkness came to him, he could only hope that Dean had understood what he was saying—if they come, if Sam died and wasn't there to protect him, use the colt on the hounds.

Darkness swept over him, leaving him unconscious, bleeding out, in Miner's Delight. Again.

* * *

 **So… Sam's all kinds of screwed. Again. But are any of you really surprised? This is one of** _ **my**_ **stories, of course there's whump.**

 **I'm going to ask you guys for something I haven't asked for in a long time—good ole concrit. I am working on a story right now and I'm a little lost about the direction. What'd I'd like to know is what you like in a story. What you expect from one of my stories. What you don't like, and what you're disappointed to read. I'm not asking for reviews. I'd be just as happy with a PM. I just need some help.**

 **Hoping to hear from you…**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for being the best beta a girl could ask for. You really are a star. Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 helped me get this chapter outlined and they gave it the seal of approval when it was done, so many hugs and thanks to them, too.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eight**_

The blood was all over Dean's hands, caked into his skin and fingernails, and tacky against his chest from his saturated shirt. The sight and feel of it turned his stomach, but he didn't make a move to wash it off. It was his punishment to wear it. It was the mark of his failure. It was Sam's blood. Sam's blood painted him because he had been too slow. Sam had acted. He had jumped in front of Dean, saving him. Sam had saved his life and he'd almost died because of it. Dean had almost killed him. And then after, he had almost killed him again through his inaction. He should have gotten him out of there to a hospital, but he'd believed Sam when he said it wasn't that bad, that he'd be okay, because he _wanted_ to believe it. He should have done something more. Sam was injured. He could have dragged him to the car and driven him to the hospital. Sam wouldn't have been able to fight back. He could have saved him.

Sam hadn't regained consciousness on the way to the hospital, though as they'd bumped their way out of town on the ruined road he'd grimaced and moaned. Then, when they'd reached the smooth roads of town, he'd fallen silent. Dean had spoken to him, pleaded with him, begged him to hold on all the way to the hospital, hoping against hope that Sam was hearing him and that for once he was going to do as he was told.

When they'd gotten to the hospital, Sam had been pulled away from Dean in a flurry of movement and voices, placed on a gurney and wheeled through the doors Dean couldn't pass. A kindly woman had steered Dean to a chair and sat him down just before his legs gave way. She'd bought him coffee laced with sugar and cream to counteract the shock, and Dean had drunk it without thought. He didn't even know if she was visitor, patient or staff.

"I have to go now," she'd said gently, patting his shoulder, and he'd not looked for or seen her again.

Dean had called Ellen and Bobby, telling them what had happened and what he needed from them. Ellen was on her way to him, and Bobby was on his way to Miner's Delight.

Now he was sitting with the blood on his hands, waiting for news, desperate for it to be good. If it wasn't good… what was he supposed to do? He had nothing left to bargain with; his soul was already taken. The demons wouldn't deal. He had no faith to speak of. He didn't believe in God, never really had, but in that moment, he decided that he had to try.

He didn't even feel self-conscious as he clasped his hands in his lap in that busy ER and closed his eyes. _'Please, please help my brother. I'll do anything, be anything, if you'll just save him. He deserves it.'_ He repeated it as a litany in his mind, hoping someone was listening but not truly believing.

* * *

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean's head snapped up at the voice and he looked into the eyes of a middle-aged man with cropped dark hair wearing navy scrubs. Dean's heart pounded in his chest. The man looked serious, as if he was building up for bad news rather than good.

"Mr. Winchester?" he said again.

Dean cleared his throat roughly. "Yeah."

"I'm Doctor Paynter. I'm Sam's attending physician."

"How's my brother?"

"He's doing as well as can be expected."

"What's that mean?" Dean asked.

"When the bullet hit, it lodged in his large intestine. We are going to need to operate to repair the damage and extract the bullet."

"It's still in him?" Dean breathed. "He said it was a through and through. He said it was."

Why had Sam lied to him? The answer came easily enough— _He didn't want you to know how bad it was. You would have taken him away. You would have saved him before he could question the demon. He was trying to save your life._

Damn him.

"He was mistaken. The bullet is deeply lodged and poses a serious risk of infection."

Dean swallowed hard. "But you can get it out. You'll do this repair and get it out and he'll be fine." He made it a statement rather than a question, desperate for reassurance.

"We will do our very best."

Dean nodded and looked down again. He hadn't expected promises; that would be opening the hospital up to a lawsuit if anything went wrong.

"Have faith," the doctor said. "I have seen many great things before."

"But you've also seen tragedy?"

He nodded solemnly. "I have. But one of those great things was your brother. I am sure you know about his last admittance here. I went from preparing your family for the end to checking him out within hours. I don't know what happened then, but…"

"Maybe it'll happen again?" Dean asked helplessly. He shook his head. "Don't get your hopes up." Last time it had been a deal that saved Sam. There was no family left to make any more deals. Sam was on his own.

"I have to go. I will come myself if I am able or send someone as soon as there's news. There is a private surgical waiting room if you'd prefer to be there."

Dean nodded. "Thanks."

He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, but then turned and walked away through the doors with their _No Admittance_ sign above. Dean watched him go, a heavy feeling in his chest. He didn't know how to handle these feelings. This pain. He wished he wasn't alone. He wished for Sam. But Sam couldn't come. Right now he was fighting for his life through those doors.

Dean closed his eyes again and started his silent litany again. _Please save him. I need you to save him. Don't let him leave me._

* * *

Ellen was filled with fear as she drove into the parking lot of the hospital. She was back in this place of nightmares, and once again it was Sam who had brought her here. Just like last time she only knew the barest of facts about what had happened. Dean had clearly been in shock when he'd called, his voice almost a whisper. He'd said Sam had been hurt and she needed to come. She'd ordered Ash to empty the bar and lock up and then she'd jumped into the car and set out at break-neck speed to her boy.

She pulled into a parking lot, cutting the engine almost at the same time as she climbed out. She jogged across the lot toward the ER entrance, tutting as the automatic doors took their sweet time opening. Her eyes roved the waiting room, searching for Dean—or maybe even a battered but upright Sam—but there was no sign of either young man. She hurried over to the reception and patted her hand on the counter to get the attention of the woman sitting there. She took one look at Ellen's wide and fear filled eyes and pulled her keyboard toward her, fingers poised to search.

"What's the name?" she asked.

"Sam Winchester. He was brought in by his brother."

Her fingers clacked the keys for a moment and she said. "He's in surgery at the moment."

Surgery? Ellen felt a thrill of fear.

"His brother's in the surgical suite waiting room. I can have someone take you there."

"It's okay," Ellen said. "I remember where it is." The woman frowned and Ellen said bitterly, "This isn't my first time here."

She walked away, took a deep breath, and pushed through the doors that led to the main lobby of the hospital.

The surgical waiting room had been empty the last time Ellen had been there, but when she stepped inside, she saw an unfamiliar couple sitting on one side of the room. They smiled grimly at her as she entered, a solidarity _we're all here hoping_ gesture and she nodded to them before her attention fell on Dean sitting in the opposite corner.

He was covered in blood—his hands, his shirt, the legs of his jeans.

She cursed quietly as she rushed to him. "Dean, what happened to you?"

"Sam," Dean said quietly.

"He hurt you?"

Dean stared at her in confusion. "Sam saved me." He looked down and suddenly seemed to realize his bloody state. "This isn't mine. It's Sam's."

Ellen bit back a gasp. How injured must Sam have been to bleed that much? Just how bad was it? Was she losing him all over again? She couldn't bear it.

She stood and tugged on Dean's arm. "Come with me."

Dean was either too in shock to resist her hand in his, leading him on, or just too damn tired to care. He followed her out of the room and into the hall. There were restrooms opposite the waiting room and she led him in into the men's room.

She ran the water until it was warm and then filled the basin. "Come on, sweetie," she said. "Let's clean you up."

Dean moved to the basin mechanically and dipped his hands in the water. It seemed that was the limit of his ability for independent movement. He just stood with his hands in the water, turning it pink.

Ellen took a breath, and took his right hand in her own, rubbing at the skin to wash away the blood. It was ground into the creases of his palm and she had to scrub hard at him, but he didn't even seem to notice. When one hand was done, she changed the water and tackled the other, scrubbing until the only blood remaining was ground into his nail beds. She couldn't remove those last traces no matter how hard she tried.

"All done," she said. "Now we need to change your clothes. Is your duffel in the car?"

"It's all in the trunk, but I can't leave, Ellen. I have to stay."

"I'll go get it. Will you be okay?"

Dean nodded mutely and held out the keys to her. She took them and left the room, leaving him standing alone by the basin, staring into the mirror with a sickened expression.

It took her a few minutes to find the Impala. When she had both duffels—Sam would need his soon, she hoped—she went back inside and to the restroom she'd left Dean in. He hadn't moved. He remained staring into the mirror.

"Here you go," she said, putting the bag into his hand. "Get changed. You don't want Sam seeing you like this."

Dean didn't seem to notice what he was doing as he unbuckled his jeans and slid them down, unselfconscious of Ellen's presence.

The blood was on his legs, too, and the fabric stuck to him. Ellen dampened some paper towels in warm water and handed them to him, saying, "Clean up, honey."

He did as he was bidden, wiping down his legs and then pulling on clean jeans. He did the same with his chest and stomach, wiping away Sam's blood, and then dressed again. Ellen noticed the new tattoo on his collarbone but didn't comment. When he was done, he dumped the towels in the trash and turned to her. Ellen took an involuntary step back at the change in him. There was darkness in his eyes. It was horrifying in its familiarity, because she had seen it on someone else she loved: Sam. Dean looked the way Sam had in the days after John's death, in the days before he had met Dean again—before Dean had brought him back to her. It was the darkness that spoke of pain both for himself and for the one who had caused it.

She had known Dean wasn't ready to tell her anything when she arrived, he had clearly been in shock, but he seemed to be coming back to himself now, coming back into something that wasn't him, so she asked the question she needed answered before he could shut down like Sam. "What happened?"

"Ellsworth," he said bitterly. "We found him. Sam found him." His eyes became unfocused and his face twisted with rage. She thought he was mentally replaying whatever had happened. "He was in Miner's Delight. He thought Sam would be too scared to go back. He wasn't. We got the Palo Santo from Isaac and Tamara, and the colt from Bobby. We had everything. I thought it would be easy." He shook his head. "It wasn't. I got the demon with the Palo Santo. I thought it would be okay. It couldn't smoke out. We just had to question it and take it down. We both thought that it would all be over, I could tell. But Ellsworth was ready. He had a gun. It happened so fast. Sam was running at me and then I was on my ass. I didn't see the gun go off but I heard it. There was _nothing_ I could do," he said angrily.

"I know, honey," she said gently, while internally reeling with shock. They couldn't have known it would happen. How could anyone have known that? Demons didn't use weapons. They used fists, feet and words to hurt. Not even Sam could have expected it to pull a gun.

"He told me he was okay," Dean said, his barely held anger broiling under the surface. "He said it was a through and through. He wanted to keep questioning the demon. I didn't stop him."

Of course he said he was okay. It was Sam. He would have been completely focused on the mission. He might not even have realized how bad it was himself with the shock and adrenaline.

Ellen gripped Dean's shoulders and turned him to look at her. She ducked her head so she was in her line of sight and locked eyes with him. "It wasn't your fault. This is what Sam does. It's what he's always done because it was what he was trained to do. You can't blame yourself."

"Trained," Dean said bitterly. "You know, sometimes I hate my father."

Ellen sighed. "You're not the only one, honey. You're not the only one. But it wasn't John's fault this time. It wasn't even Sam's. This is all down to the demon."

"Oh, I know," he said grimly. "But if I lose him now, after everything…" He closed his eyes for a long moment, seeming to summon calm. When they opened again, however, there was no calm. There was nothing but hatred and fury. "I am going to make it pay."

* * *

What seemed like hours later, they were called from the waiting room by a sweet-faced nurse and told Sam was out of surgery.

"How is he?" Dean asked. His voice was quiet, measured, just like Sam's always was when he was trying to keep his emotions in check. Just like it was when he worried her the most.

"He's going to be fine," she said. "He came through the surgery without complications."

"Can we see him?" Ellen asked urgently.

"He's still unconscious, but you can sit with him."

Ellen took Dean's hand and squeezed it, feeling the tension in him. "Ready?"

Dean nodded and got to his feet.

They followed the nurse out of the room, along the hall, and into an elevator. Ellen remembered the journey to the surgical floor from her last visit, and she dreaded to think what she would see at the end of it. Would Sam look as desperately ill as he had last time? Would she be losing him all over?

She couldn't be sure Sam was in the same room as he had been last time, she had been too overwrought to remember things like that before, but it was definitely the same hall she traveled along. They came to a door and the nurse pushed it open. Ellen drew a deep breath before going in, trying to find some calm.

It wasn't as bad as last time. Sam wasn't deathly white and his eyes were unshadowed, but the sounds were the same—the beep of the heart monitor and the quiet breaths. Sam was lying flat with a cannula threaded under his nose and electrodes on his bare chest. She couldn't see the actual wound as there was a clean, white dressing covering it, but she could imagine it, neat black stitches and red skin. She had seen Sam's skin stitched too many times for comfort. She'd seen him stitching his _own_ skin.

She stepped close to the bed and laid a hand on Sam's expressionless cheek. "Hey, sweetie." She wasn't expecting a reaction, he was unconscious, but as she touched him, his eyes rolled beneath their lids. "Sam? Honey, can you hear me?"

His eyes opened a crack and he spoke in a whisper that she had to lean close to hear. "Dean?"

"He's here. He's fine." She looked for Dean, expecting him to be at her side, but he was standing just inside the door.

"Dean," she said gently.

Dean shook his head.

"He needs you."

Dean took a breath walked to the bed and looked down at his brother, his relief as obvious as his anger.

"Hey," Sam said.

"Hey," Dean said with a grim smile. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine. Just give me a few hours and I'll be out of here."

Ellen started to protest, but Dean spoke over her. "Wait for me. I'll be right back."

Sam stared into his eyes and a moment of silent communication passed between the brothers. Sam nodded. "Make it hurt."

"What's going on?" Ellen asked, but they both ignored her.

Dean grinned evilly. "Oh, I will." He turned and walked back through the door.

* * *

Dean had told Bobby Sam had been hurt and they were in the hospital, but that was all he told him about it. He didn't say how badly Sam was hurt or what had happened, though Bobby knew from the stress in Dean's voice that it was bad. And Sam would never have consented to going to a hospital otherwise.

He hadn't told him much about Sam, but he had told him about the demon—where it was, what they had done to it, and what he wanted to happen next. He'd made Bobby promise not to exorcise it. He wanted to talk to it first.

Bobby had driven close to the town, close enough to see the demon held by the Palo Santo, but he hadn't gotten out of the car. He thought it would be too hard to resist exorcising it if he had to listen to the damn thing's gloating, as it surely would; demons couldn't usually resist.

He heard the rumble of an engine and he looked into the rearview mirror to see the Impala driving up behind him. Bobby got out and waited for Dean. He sucked in a breath when he saw him. Dean's face was white and twisted with emotion.

"No," Bobby breathed, horrorstruck.

"He's alive," Dean said. "He got through surgery."

"What happened?" Bobby asked.

"I can't…" Dean shook his head. "Not now."

He walked around the car and opened the trunk. There were two duffels there. Dean took them out and then loaded one with weapons from the concealed trove. He had holy water, a knife, the colt and a metal bar.

"Iron?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded stiffly. "Iron."

"Dean, what are you planning?"

"I'm planning on getting the information Sam almost died for and then killing the son of a bitch." His face was closed off, a mask. Bobby hated to see it. Dean wasn't supposed to look like this. That was Sam.

Dean slammed the truck closed and walked away. Bobby hesitated for a moment and then followed. Bobby saw the pool of blood first, the large dark stain against the rocky ground. How much blood could one man lose and live? Dean said he made it through surgery, but did that mean he would _make_ it? He held back a shudder.

The demon was… Well, suffice to say it was eerie for Bobby to look at. He was smiling as they approached. "Here he is," he said happily. "Wondered when you'd get back. I guess the funeral arrangements took a while to organize? Tell me, Dean, did you decide on cremation or burial? Silly question. He was a hunter. You'll burn him, won't you?"

"He's alive," Dean growled.

The demon shook his head. "Pity. I'll take better aim next time."

"You won't get a chance."

Dean pulled out the holy water from his duffel and unscrewed the cap. "I'm going to ask you questions and you're going to answer. If you don't, I will hurt you."

"I'd like to see you try."

Dean didn't react. "Who holds my contract?" he asked.

The demon laughed. "We've been over this already. I can't tell you."

Dean nodded as if he had expected as much. He whipped the bottle of holy water through the air, sending droplets onto the demon's face. He snarled and his eyes turned black.

"Who holds my contract?"

The demon grimaced but didn't speak. Dean capped the bottle again and pulled out the iron bar instead. He stepped into the demon's space and swung it through the air, slamming it against the demon's temple. The force of it knocked the demon onto his back on the ground.

"Dean!" Bobby shouted. "There's a man in there."

Dean looked almost dangerous as he said, "So?" He bowed over the demon. "Who has it?"

"I can't tell you!"

Dean swung the rod through the air again, colliding with the demons gut. The demon curled up into a ball. He didn't stop. Again and again he pelted the demon with blows, asking the same question with each collision. "Who holds my contract?"

Bobby stood horrified as he watched. Dean was like a machine, landing each blow where it would hurt the most—head, gut, side.

"Stop," the demon moaned.

"I will when you tell me," Dean said. "I can do this all day. My arm's not even tired yet. I want to be able to go back to my brother and tell him you're dead, but before that I'm going to enjoy this."

The demon shuddered. "You'll kill me?"

"I will, but before I do that I'll call every hunter in my brother's book so they can all come take a turn beating you. I will make your life so bad you'll be yearning for Hell again."

The demon spat blood onto the ground. "You have to swear to kill me."

"I swear," Dean said. "Tell me what your boss is called and I'll end you mercifully."

The demon closed his eyes. "Lilith. Her name is Lilith."

Bobby sucked in a breath. "The first?"

"Yes, now kill me. You have to kill me."

Dean stared down at it, fury etched into his features. "No."

"You promised!"

"I lied. I figure this Lilith will be able to hurt you better and longer than me." He turned away. "Bobby, get rid of it. Exorcise it." He picked up his duffel, turned away, and strode back to the car.

"Where are you going?" Bobby called after him.

"Where I'm needed," he said without pausing. "To Sam."

He yanked open the car door and threw himself inside. Bobby watched him drive away, feeling sick with horror. It wasn't his Dean who had just left. His Dean was gentle and patient. He would never have beaten the demon so badly that the meat suit didn't stand a chance.

He wasn't Bobby's now. He was Sam's.

Bobby turned back to the quaking demon and cleared his throat, banishing the shock so he could do what needed to be done. Because that was what Dean needed him to do.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"

* * *

 **So… Dean has embraced it. This wasn't in the outline. There was something else that was supposed to 'make' Dean a hunter again, but this kinda wrote itself so I went with it. Don't fret though; he's not turning into Sam. He will be the same person we love, just a hunter again.**

 **Enormous thanks to you that are still reading, especially those of you that review. I lost a lot of readers from Bond of Brotherhood — which I understand, sequels are not always good — so I appreciate those of you that are sticking with me.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for beta'ing, pre-reading, hand-holding and helping me make the story happen.**

 **Because you guys are awesome and because I am about to watch Misha at NJCon Karaoke on StageIt– in a couple hours anyway – I thought I would make us all happy by posting an extra chapter this week. Hope you enjoy and don't hate me too much when you read the ending.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nine**_

Dean was in the parking lot of the hospital, scrubbing at the bloodstained upholstery with rags and bottle of leather cleaner. He wanted it cleaned up so Sam wouldn't have to see the results of his injury.

Sam had consented to stay in the hospital overnight to settle Ellen's nerves, but even as Dean worked, he was checking out AMA. Dean had tried to persuade him to stay a little longer, but he wasn't budging, insisting that he hated hospitals and doctors and sitting around surrounded by strangers who poked and prodded at him. He would much rather complete his recovery at The Roadhouse.

Ellen had no idea they were coming back. She had been persuaded to go home to take care of the bar, though she hadn't wanted to. Dean was glad she was gone. There was something about the way she kept looking at him, as if expecting him to blow up any moment. He understood it in a way. He'd been so incensed the day before, overcome with fury at the demon for what it had done to Sam, that he hadn't really been himself. The man he had been before could never have taken down that demon the way he had. He had crossed a line with what he had done. He'd killed a man. But it hadn't felt wrong. It had felt right. He had gotten the name his brother had almost died for, the name that would save his life.

He hadn't done it to save his own life though. He'd done it to save Sam's. There was no way Sam would ever stop searching for the information they needed, and it could, probably would, have eventually killed him. It just took another demon with a gun, a lucky shot, and it would all be over for them both. Even if, by some miracle, Dean managed to break the deal himself, he wouldn't live again without his brother. He had done that for far too long before and then he'd had hope he'd find him again. If Sam was dead… there was just no way.

Dean had crossed a line but he didn't regret it, just like he didn't regret the deal. It was worth it.

He climbed out of the car and examined his work. He could still see the blood staining the seat, but he thought that was just memory. It was as clean as he was going to get it. It would be okay for Sam.

He closed the door and turned to go back to the hospital, his hands full of dirty rags, when he noticed the woman leaning against the hood.

"Ruby."

"Man that's a lot of blood," she said in lieu of a greeting.

"Sam's," Dean said stiffly.

"I heard."

"How?"

"I have Roadhouse connections, too. I heard he got taken down by a demon. Is it true the thing was using a gun?"

Dean nodded. "Son of a bitch shot him."

"You take it out yet or can I come along for the ride?" She smiled wickedly.

"Afraid it's already gone."

"Pity. I would've enjoyed seeing you in action."

Dean smiled grimly. "Don't worry. I made sure it felt it."

She tilted her head to the side. "You're different."

"Seeing your brother get shot will do that to you."

"It's more than that. You've embraced it, haven't you? The life?"

"What do you mean?"

She considered for a moment before speaking. "When I first met you, you were scared out of your mind but fighting. When I saw you again, you were all civilian again—just making a food run. Now you're a hunter. You've embraced it."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe." That was a lie. He _had_ embraced it, he knew. He'd had no choice. He was still Dean Winchester, son of John and Mary and brother of Sam, but he was more hunter now than he had been even at sixteen when he was surrounded by the life. He wondered idly what Sonny would think if he could see him now.

"It's not a criticism. It's a compliment. I thought it would take you longer to come round is all. Sam must be so proud," she said.

Dean wasn't sure what Sam felt about it. He'd known what Dean was going to do when he'd woken up in the hospital; he'd known he was going for the demon. He'd encouraged it even — _'Make it hurt'._ When Dean had gotten back to the hospital, he'd made sure Dean was okay, but said nothing more about it. He was probably pleased that Dean was stepping up as a real hunter now. A hunter was what Sam needed for a partner, not a social worker playing pretend.

Dean couldn't deny he felt a pang of sadness for his old life though. He would never be able to go back to it after what he'd done to the man that demon was riding.

He shook off the thought. It wasn't important now. He could grieve for that later. He had questions for Ruby.

"You know a lot about demons, right?" he asked.

"Yep – been learning about them practically my whole life. Why?"

"Have you ever heard of a demon called Lilith?"

She laughed. "Of course I've heard of her. Everyone in the life has."

"What can you tell me about her?"

"I can tell you she's not real. Okay, story is Lucifer was cast out of Heaven for refusing to bow to humanity. Feeling a little bitter about that, he took a human and corrupted it: Lilith. She was the first demon."

Dean whistled between his teeth.

"She's not real, Dean," Ruby said patiently.

"How do you know?"

"Do you have faith?" she asked in return. "In God, angels, and all that crap I mean?"

Dean remembered sitting in that waiting room, pleading with a source of mercy he didn't believe in to save his brother. Then another memory came to him, his mother's voice speaking softly to him as he slipped into sleep. _'"Sleep well, my love. Angels will be watching over you.'_ But if there were angels, they hadn't saved her that night.

"I don't think so."

"It's kind of a yes/no question. Never mind. My point is that if you don't believe in God, you can't believe in his angels. I don't believe in God, so I don't believe in angels, and therefore I don't believe in Lucifer and his actions. There's no devil, so there's no Lilith."

"Maybe it could be another demon that's taken the name as a kind of… I don't know… boast?"

She looked thoughtful. "I guess it could be. I don't know. Why are you asking about Lilith anyway?"

Dean opened his mouth, closed it again, and cleared his throat. "No reason."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sure. I always get into conversations about legendary demons when I've got better things to be doing, like busting my brother from the hospital where he has to be going crazy."

"It doesn't matter," Dean said then changed the subject. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Like I said, I heard what happened. I was in the area—following signs that must have been your demon—and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"We're fine. I'm just heading up to get Sam now. Want to come see him?"

"Nah. I think I'll give it a miss. Sam Winchester isn't the most sociable creature at the best of times, and I doubt being shot will have improved that. I'll catch him next time around."

Dean nodded. "Well, we're heading to The Roadhouse. Drop by sometime and I'll buy you a drink."

She grimaced. "I would but I was banned a while ago, and Ellen's got a long memory. I'll keep an eye out if I'm in town though. Give me your phone."

Dean pulled it from his pocket. She smiled enigmatically as she dialed in a number and then handed it back.

"There. You've got my number now. If you need anything, give me a call."

"No offence, but what would I need?"

"Maybe rescue from one the Seven Deadly Sins. I know you kicked them back to the pit, but the thing is, demons are nothing if not resourceful when it comes to escaping that place."

"I'll bear that in mind," Dean said.

"You do that." She turned away and walked across the lot, a distinct sashay in her hips. She turned back when she got to a sweet looking Mustang. She waved an arm along the length of the car like a game show host presenting the main prize, and then got in. Dean nodded. Garish color aside, that really was a nice ride.

* * *

To say Ellen wasn't pleased to see them at The Roadhouse that evening was an understatement. She must have heard the Impala pulling up as she was standing by the back door looking tense when they arrived. When she caught sight of Sam riding shotgun, her tension skipped concerned and jumped straight to pissed.

Sam climbed out, pain searing his gut as the fresh stitches pulled, and made for the door on unsteady legs.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked angrily.

Sam ignored the question and walked past her slowly to get into the kitchen. Once there, he eased himself down onto the chair, feeling like an invalid and hating it. He'd been hurt plenty before. He'd even been shot before. But that had been a through and through to his side and John had been able to fix him up without hospital help. Whatever this bullet had done to him internally had done a real number on him.

He heard Ellen questioning Dean outside — _"What the hell is he doing here?_ " — but Dean apparently took the same defense as Sam had in refusing to answer. He came into the room and asked, "You hungry?"

Sam shook his head. He'd been restricted to fluids in the hospital and while attempting to persuade him to stay the doctor had said he had to stick to that for another day at least. He could really do with a belt of whiskey, but he didn't ask for it. He may be a little reckless, but he wasn't stupid. Breaking the rules could mean complications, and complications would probably land him in the hospital again. He wasn't going there. Not while there were more important things to do.

Dean slid into a chair opposite him as Ellen stomped into the room. She glared at Dean. "Will you give us a minute?"

Dean looked at Sam and he nodded. She just wanted to talk, to maybe vent her frustration or try to persuade him to go back to hospital. Dean got up and walked out of the room, probably headed to the bar.

"Sam," Ellen said plaintively. Sam braced himself. She'd gone from pissed to sadness at high speed. Guilt was on its way for him. "Please don't do this to me again?"

"Again?"

"You checked out early last time, too."

Sam gritted his teeth. "We're not talking about that." Last time was when he'd made a miracle recovery thanks to his father.

"Then let's talk about the graveyard. I saw you die, Sam. I saw you _shoot yourself_ and die. I helped move your body. I saw your corpse. I said goodbye to it. Have you any idea how that felt?"

Sam closed his eyes. "This is different, Ellen. I'm not dying. I'm not dead. I'm just a little beat up."

"You had surgery _yesterday_!"

"And I'm fine."

"Do you like putting yourself at risk? Is that it? You're human, Sam, not a machine. You need to let yourself heal."

"I will. Here. Unless that's a problem. I'm sure Bobby Singer would let us crash there if it's a problem for you."

"Don't be an asshole," she growled. Ellen only cursed when she was really upset, and he didn't think it was anger pushing her now. It was fear and sadness.

"I know I'm not a machine," he said. "I am not trying to hurt myself. I am just making sure I'm where I'm needed. Dean needs me here."

"Dean needs you healthy."

"Dean needs his deal broken. We got a name, Ellen. We've got a lead that'll fix this mess. I can't chase that from a hospital bed. I can do it here." He looked into her eyes. "Look, I'm sorry for what happened. I don't mean to keep putting you through this, but it's Dean. He needed me then, when that demon pulled the gun, and he needs me now. I can't just abandon the mission because I'm a little sore."

She closed her eyes for a long moment. "I love you, Sam. I wish you knew how much. I wish you would see that your life matters, too. Dean needs you alive as much as I do."

Sam sighed. He could count the number of times Ellen had told him she loved him on one hand. Her affection was demonstrated not told. It wasn't like her to speak about stuff like this. She really was overwrought.

"How about this," Sam said, "I'll hang here, not hit the road again until we both agree I'm ready, and you stop giving me crap. I'll even stay in bed a while." He could handle that caveat because he was aching and exhausted from the journey from Wyoming.

"You promise me?" she asked. "Not the same bullshit promise that you give me when you say you'll be careful on a hunt?"

"I promise," Sam vowed.

"Okay. We've got a deal."

Sam smiled and tried to look innocent, even as he wondered how long it would be before he broke that particular promise.

* * *

Dean's nightmares began that night. It was impossible for Sam to miss them, sharing the room as they did, but after the first night when he woke up and asked if Dean was okay and Dean brushed it off, he didn't ask again. It wasn't that he didn't care, Dean was sure; he just seemed to realize it was something Dean couldn't talk about. He could apparently relate, as Dean woke a couple times to see Sam locked in his own nightmares.

It was the same dream over and over for Dean. Sam was lying on the dirty ground of Miner's Delight, bleeding out in front of Dean, and this time, when Dean tried to help, to get him into the car to take him to hospital, he couldn't move. He stood there every time, watching Sam dying slowly, until he took one last breath and stilled.

Dean had taken enough psychology in college to know the dream spoke of his feeling of powerlessness in that moment. He hadn't been able to keep Sam from getting shot, and he hadn't been able to persuade him to go to the hospital sooner. He'd almost lost his brother because of it. Mentally, he was a hunter again, but physically, skill wise, he wasn't.

The guilt over it was harder to handle. The truth was that Sam had almost died saving Dean. He'd shifted all the blame that he could onto the demon where it belonged, but there was plenty left for him. By the end of the first week of Sam's recovery, he was decided. He was getting help so it wouldn't happen again.

That evening, while Sam sat talking with another hunter in the bar and Ellen and Jo worked the taps, Dean went outside to make a call. Ruby answered on the first ring.

"It's Dean," he said, then realized she might not be able to connect that with him as they'd only met a few times, so he went on, "Dean Winchester."

There was a soft laugh. "Very James Bond of you, Dean, Dean Winchester. How's things?"

"They're… okay. Look, Ruby, I'm calling for help."

Her tone became businesslike. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," Dean said. "Well, nothing new. I was wondering if you'd be up for a little after hours education."

"Sounds kinky. Your place or mine?"

Dean sighed. "I need more training. Sam did some with me a while ago, and I've bulked up on the Latin, but I need something to give me an edge in the fight. I figure since you're a demon expert, you could help me out."

"Sure I can," she said. "It'll be fun even." He heard her draw a breath. "Okay. Where are we doing this? Like I said, I can't come by The Roadhouse."

Dean considered. "There are a few abandoned places near here. We can scout out one without squatters and use that."

"Okay then. I'm hanging with a demon in Pennsylvania right now so it'll take me a couple days to get to you. How about you find a place for us and text me an address. I can meet you there."

"Thanks, Ruby."

They exchanged goodbyes and Dean stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He went back inside to see Sam at the counter making coffee.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Fine," Dean replied. "I was just calling an old friend."

"Cool," Sam said, sounding pleased. "You should hang onto them."

Dean smiled. "Yeah. I will."

He wasn't lying to Sam out of maliciousness but because he knew Sam wouldn't want him to go to an outsider for help, even another hunter. He would want to train Dean himself, despite the fact he was still healing, and he'd probably end up getting hurt. Dean could meet with Ruby a few times and then show Sam why it was a good thing. Besides, it wasn't like Sam hadn't kept secrets.

* * *

"Come on, Dean, that wasn't even hard," Ruby scolded.

Dean groaned his annoyance.

The warehouse was old but still stacked with machinery that had been abandoned when the company went bust. They were playing a convoluted version of tag among the equipment, the aim of the game to find the other without being caught. The object was to teach Dean to move covertly when hunting a target.

It wasn't something he'd ever practiced before. John Winchester hadn't been big on stealth. He went in all guns blazing, and though Dean had noticed Sam was better at concealing himself unless he wanted to be seen, he still wasn't as good as Ruby. She was testing Dean in a way he'd never been before.

This was just one of the lessons they worked on. Dean was drilled on fighting techniques—something he'd believed he was getting pretty good at until he faced off against Ruby. They practiced his marksmanship—which he _was_ good at, better than her even. They ran together, laps of the parking lot until Dean was red-faced and panting while Ruby looked as fresh as she'd been when they started. She was fitter than Dean could imagine being, and faster, and he was starting to think this was all a waste of time because—other than with a gun—she beat him every time. He didn't feel like he was improving at all. He didn't stop though. He just worked harder.

It was impossible for Sam and the others back at The Roadhouse to not notice him disappearing for the evening every few days. He told them he was meeting an old friend back in Fremont. They assumed it was a woman, and there was some good-natured teasing from Jo and a satisfied expression on Sam's face occasionally. He didn't feel bad about lying to them as it was for the greater good. Besides, it was a woman.

Dean found he liked Ruby's company. She was intelligent, skilled, interesting, and they had things in common. They'd both been away from their family a large part of their life, though Dean had his back now. Ruby told him one night how she'd lost her family a long time ago. It had been those deaths that had brought her into the hunt. Just like Mary's had brought him into it. Like him, she detested demons and everything to do with them.

Dean didn't tell her about his own deal, though he'd considered it many times. It felt too personal, even though they seemed to be growing closer each time they met. Maybe one day he would.

They would often share a beer after training and talk for a while. Not necessarily about the big stuff, just little things like how Sam was doing with his recovery and the hunts she was taking.

Sometimes Dean wished he could take her by The Roadhouse and let her meet Sam for herself, but he didn't want to upset Ellen. When he'd asked about her banning people from the place, asking casually about how often she had to do it, she'd laughed and said, "Honey, I've booted so many people from this place that I've lost track. Never forget a face though. Once you've aimed a shotgun at someone, you tend to remember them."

Ruby announced that they were done for the night shortly after Dean's fourth failed attempt at catching her, and they went outside to get the beer from the trunk of her car. Dean screwed off the cap of his bottle and leaned against the Mustang's hood listening to the sounds of the Nebraska evening—cicadas and distant traffic.

"I'm going to have to take off for a few days," Ruby announced.

Dean frowned. "A demon?"

"Not this time, no. I've been tracking some strange deaths in Iowa. Pretty sure there's a Kumiho in Iowa."

"Kumiho?"

"Nasty things. They like to snack on livers."

Dean grimaced. "Nice."

"Yeah. I don't usually take these kinda hunts, but I haven't found any demon signs lately." She bumped his shoulder. "Too busy playing Mighty Mick to your Rocky. But I need to stretch my legs as it were, and I figure I can save a few lives while I'm there."

"Sounds good," Dean said thoughtfully.

"You want in?" she asked. "I wouldn't mind backup and it'd be helpful to see you operate in the field. We can gauge how much you're learning."

Dean considered. It _would_ be good to go on a hunt to test himself, but it would involve leaving Sam. It wasn't like Sam _needed_ him around all the time. There were enough people at The Roadhouse to keep an eye on him, and his recovery was going well. But it would mean lying to Sam about what he was doing, or at least hiding some parts.

"It'll be fun," Ruby said. "We'll make it a party."

"Okay," Dean said decisively. "I'm in."

He would go and try himself against this new monster. After all, it wasn't just about demons, this training. He would need this knowledge to help Sam in future hunts. If that involved a couple of white lies to Sam, so be it.

* * *

Dean was hiding something. Sam suspected it was a woman. He liked that Dean was getting out there and enjoying life. Just because he had the deal over him for now, it didn't mean he should put everything else on hold. He needed to live.

He wasn't like Sam. Sam was hardly a monk, but for him romance was a thing other people had and sex was about a release. He wasn't cruel. He made sure whoever he was with knew that it was a onetime thing, and he never chose from the pool at The Roadhouse—not wanting to face them or have them be forced to face him again.

Dean was different. He'd had girls when he was young who had clearly had an impact on him—he'd tried the long distance thing after all. And he went on actual dates in his snappy suit rather than meeting random women in bars and only discussing the merits of her place over his motel.

It was good Dean was getting out there.

That didn't stop Sam from being surprised when Dean announced he was taking off for a few days. Unfortunately for him, he chose to make the announcement when Jo was within hearing distance.

"Ohhh," she said happily. "Taking your mystery woman away for a few days?"

"I'm going with a friend," Dean corrected. "She's only a mystery because I haven't decided to subject her to your interrogation yet."

Jo grinned and leaned over the bar to pinch his cheek, but Dean pulled back before she could. He turned to Sam. "You mind me taking off?"

Sam didn't _mind_ exactly. He worried Dean would land himself in trouble while he was gone where Sam couldn't protect him, but he couldn't let that be an issue between them. He knew how much he hated it when Ellen fussed about him, and Dean wouldn't enjoy it much more. Besides, it was a weekend with his woman, not a hunt.

"I don't mind," he said easily. "You enjoy yourself."

Dean nodded, a grin spreading over his face. He looked happy now, excited even.

"Man. you really like her, don't you?" Jo said.

Dean shrugged. "She's okay. Good. You know what I mean?"

Jo beamed at him. "Good for you, Dean. It's about time one of the Winchesters settled down."

"Whoa!" Dean raised his hands. "Who's settling down? We're taking a trip, not getting married."

Sam laughed.

A hunter came to stand at the other end of the bar and waved his bill. Jo winked at Dean and then went to serve him.

"You sure you don't mind?" Dean asked.

"I don't mind," Sam said patiently. "You can even take the Impala."

"Thanks, but she's got a hot Mustang she'll probably want to drive."

Sam smiled. It made sense now. Dean always had been a sucker for hot cars. If there was a hot woman driving it, all the better.

"I better go get packed," Dean said. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and wandered through the door to the living area.

Sam was alone a few minutes before Ellen came to stand by him. "Jo tells me Dean's going away with his woman," she said.

Sam took a slug of his beer. "He is."

"Good for him," she said, nodding decisively. "He should be getting out there."

"Yeah," Sam said. "He needs this. It'll stop him falling all the way into the life." Because that idea haunted Sam. As much as he was enjoying having his brother with him, he didn't want the hunt to become his life that way it was Sam's. Dean was better than that.

* * *

The thing was like a horror movie creation—human apart from the silver eyes and claws. That was what made it worse. It looked human and innocent with its blonde hair and sweet smile. They could have passed it at the grocery store and not recognized it for what it was.

Luckily, they caught it in the act of killing in an alley, so they'd had no doubts of what it was, though they were too late to save the man it targeted. It had already slit the man's throat with a razor sharp claw.

It had immense strength which it zeroed in on Dean, possibly seeing him as the greater opponent as a man. He took a kick to the chest that sent him reeling back against the alley wall, making him drop his silver knife. Panting, he pushed away and aimed a kick at its gut, but Ruby was already there. Despite her deceptively slender frame, she was strong as Dean knew from their sparring sessions, and she was fast. She dropped to the ground and swept a leg round, knocking the Kumiho on its ass. Dean grabbed his knife from the ground and lurched towards the creature as Ruby pinned it with a booted heel at its throat.

"Take it down, Dean," she ordered, and Dean wasted no time in obeying. He bent and shoved the knife in over the thing's heart.

The creature's silvery eyes widened, it whispered, "No," and then it slumped back.

Dean stepped back and watched as Ruby yanked the knife out of the thing's chest.

"Nice," she said. "Hell of a thrill, right?"

Dean nodded mutely. It felt different than when he'd exorcised the demons or watched Sam kill the Nixie. Maybe because this had been a hands-on death. He felt his heart pounding. He felt relief that it was over but satisfaction that he'd saved future lives. He'd proven himself.

"We gotta get out of here," Ruby said, making for the mouth of the alley.

They both climbed into her car and Ruby pulled away from the curb. They didn't talk on the ride back to their motel. Ruby didn't say anything, and Dean followed her lead. It wasn't until they were in their room that Ruby spoke up. "Get your shirt off. I need to take a look at your chest, see if anything's broken."

Dean unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off his t-shirt, feeling the pull of pain as he did. He didn't think the creature had broken any ribs, but there was going to be a hell of a bruise come morning.

Ruby traced a hand over his chest, her touch gentle. "I think you're okay," she said softly, but she didn't take her hand from him. He felt his body reacting. He swallowed hard.

"You did well today," she said in a sultry tone.

Dean nodded.

Her hand dropped from his chest to his waist and then curled around his hip. With the strength he knew she had, she pulled him against her. She couldn't _not_ feel his reaction to her. But no surprise made its home on her face. Instead, she leaned forward and rubbed her cheek against his.

"I really like you, Dean," she whispered.

"I like you too."

"Good," she said, and then slammed their lips together. Her hands ran up his back and carded through his short hair. Dean groaned as she pulled back to breathe.

"Do you want this?"

In answer, Dean gripped her hips and pulled her against him, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

This might be a mistake, Dean thought, but he was already Hellbound. What was the worst that could happen?

* * *

 **So… That happened. The chemistry between the two when I was writing them was stronger than anything I've ever had happen before, and this seemed the natural progression for me. I was really nervous about it, but my partners in crime — Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 — saw it there too, so it made it into the final cut. It's not going to last. Let me just get that out here now. It's a temporary blip, so please try not to let it put you off the story.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic. SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 were awesome through the writing process of this chapter.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Ten**_

"I don't know, Sam," Bobby said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You and I have spent years chasing things other people believe are myths. Why shouldn't there be a good side to all the bad we've seen?"

"You're calling Satan good?" Sam's eyebrows arched in disbelief.

"No, I'm calling angels good. And God, maybe. You kinda need one for the other, don't you? My point is that there's usually balance in the world, and with all the bad crap swimming around that we spend our lives chasing, we could do with something good to even the scales."

"Okay. Say that angels are real, and God, too; why aren't they helping us? Are they just sitting up on their clouds watching all the bad crap and doing nothing? More to the point, why haven't any of the demons we've come up against ever told us about their satanic boss?"

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they don't believe either. He's probably not sitting on a throne down there. That sounds too cartoonish for me."

The whole thing sounded too cartoonish for Sam. Lilith he believed in. She held Dean's deal. But Lilith as Lucifer's first creation… that just sounded ridiculous.

To believe in Lucifer you had to have faith in God and the rest and Sam couldn't. He had seen too much bad in the world to accept that there was a powerful source of good that just stood by and let it happen. Lilith was just a badass demon that had taken the name to intimidate the rest.

They were sitting at Sam's preferred corner table of The Roadhouse. The place was quickly filling, and their conversation was lost in the hubbub of chatter. Bobby had come to Nebraska to drop off another book on demonology for Sam. He was itching to have a look at it, but Bobby had wanted to share a drink and Sam had conceded to manners for a change. Their stilted conversation had come round to the subject of Lilith and her supposed origin as Lucifer's first, leading to the discussion of the possibility of angels.

"Doesn't make a difference anyway," Sam said confidently. "I'm going to end her, whatever her name or origin, and save Dean."

"I'm with you on that. I'll do my bit. I'm sure I'm getting close to cracking the colt mystery, and once we've got the bullets for that we can waste every demon that tries to stand in our way, Lilith included." He looked around the bar. "Where is your brother anyway?"

Sam smiled slightly. "According to him, he's made a run out for groceries."

"And according to you?"

"He's with his woman again."

"His woman?"

"He hasn't told you?" Sam asked. He thought Bobby at least would have been given the rundown on her, despite the fact Dean hadn't told Sam a thing other than that she was 'great' and 'really good' for him.

Sam understood why Dean hadn't brought her by to meet him. He wasn't exactly the _meet the girlfriend_ type. He wasn't good at small talk or any kind of talk really with people who weren't family. He'd lost that ability a long time ago. He was willing to make the effort with Bobby – exchanging facts and theories with the older hunter because he was _Dean's_ family, and Sam owed him for what he had done for his brother, but that was about his limit. The rest of the time he kept it to the work with other hunters. Dean wasn't like that. He could talk to anyone about anything. He'd even started making friends among the regular patrons of the bar, other hunters. Sam sometimes watched him talking with them and marveled at the difference in the person he remembered as a child. Dean had been able to talk with girls then, he'd excelled at that, and Caleb, Pastor Jim and other hunters they came across were treated to the Dean Winchester humor and charm, but he'd shunned people outside the life—always concerned with keeping the secret of the real world and the way they lived in it. He was open now in a way Sam could never be.

"He's told me nothing," Bobby said sounding disgruntled. "Mind you, he never usually kept me up to date with his hookups."

"No hookup this time," Sam said then shook his head and laughed. "Well, you know what I mean. He's been seeing her for weeks, since shortly after Ellsworth. He disappears every couple days to see her one town over."

Bobby frowned. "He told you this?"

"No, Ash tracked his GPS."

"That's a little creepy, Sam."

"It's not like I went knocking on their motel room door," Sam said defensively. "Ash tracks all our GPS nowadays in case something happens. It sets Ellen's mind at ease." And that mattered to Sam. Ellen had been through a lot and she needed what little peace of mind they could give her.

"And this has been going on since Ellsworth? Dean and this woman."

"Yeah." He saw Bobby's disquiet and asked, "Why?"

"Just surprised he was in any kind of mood to meet women after that. What with you being shot and Dean taking that demon down the way he did. He told you about that, right?" His expression was intense, and Sam thought they'd come down to the real reason for Bobby's chat.

"He told me you exorcised it after he got Lilith's name. Didn't say much else other than he'd made it hurt." Just as Sam had told him to.

"He made it hurt all right," Bobby said bitterly. "He went at that thing with an iron bar. Beat it beyond belief, knowing there was a man inside who was going to be killed. I've never seen him like that, Sam. Never. I know he was upset over what had happened to you, but he was… dark. Different. Hard."

"Like me?" Sam asked.

"I wouldn't go that far," Bobby said in a poor attempt at humor. "Just not like Dean."

Sam had known the demon was going to suffer when Dean went after it. He'd encouraged it even, but now he wondered if he'd done the right thing. He didn't wonder long. He knew he hadn't. He'd basically sent Dean off to kill, and at the time he'd not even thought it through. He'd just seen the need for revenge in Dean, and he'd supported it. He'd felt the same when he'd killed the crossroads demon that had dealt with Dean. Revenge had overtaken the concern for human life.

"Maybe it's not so bad," Sam said, rallying. "He's not like that now. It was a one-time thing. He's okay." He was attempting to reassure himself as much as Bobby.

"I think it's exactly that bad." Bobby sighed. "This hunting was only supposed to be a temporary thing for Dean, wasn't it?" Sam nodded. "I think that's different now. I think Dean crossed a line with what he did. I don't see him being able to step back over it. How can he go back to his life, helping those kids, when he's a murderer?"

"He's _not_ a murderer," Sam said angrily. "It was a demon."

"With a man inside. I don't like it anymore that you do, Sam, but I think Dean might just have committed to the hunt without even realizing he was doing it."

Sam shook his head jerkily, horror deep in him. "You're wrong. We'll take the deal out of the equation and he'll go back. He has no choice."

"You think you can make that decision for him?" Bobby asked.

Sam stared into his eyes without answering. Dean was going back to his own life whether he liked it or not. It was the only outcome Sam could bear.

* * *

Ellen was worried about Sam. His wound had healed, so she didn't worry about his health as much, but mentally he gave her a lot of anxiety; he was a man obsessed. Ever since Bobby Singer had come by The Roadhouse, he'd been quiet and thoughtful, only really rousing himself when they were checking facts or tracking.

They'd been watching for demon signs for weeks, trying to find powerful ones that might denote Lilith's presence, but there were none. Ash had the program tracking at all hours, with an alert set up for anything that came up. Most of the time it was low-level stuff that was too far away to track before they moved on. Demons were largely transient.

He wasn't as bad as he was in the months after John's death and before the reintroduction of Dean to his life, but he wasn't good. There were no more good-natured nights spent with Jo and Dean, no after hours drinking and talking with Ellen and Ash. He avoided the bar, taking his liquor into the kitchen where he could pore over his books in peace.

Jo was so disappointed with the reversal to his old ways that she was spending more and more time visiting her few friends from college.

He was treating Dean differently, too. It was as if they'd argued and the tension was still there. Dean was obviously hurt by the change, though he didn't mention it to Ellen more than once. He just said they hadn't quarreled and he had no idea why Sam was acting the way he was. More frustrating for Dean than anything was the fact that Sam was shunning his help. Sam and Ash's conversations about the demon signs trailed off when Dean was close, and Sam wouldn't let him read the books he was researching from. Dean began to spend more and more time out of the bar with his girlfriend.

It was evening and Ellen was working the bar while Sam sat in his corner with a book open in front of him when Ash suddenly jumped to his feet, drawing the eyes of a few people, Sam included. Ellen left an empty glass sitting under the beer tap, ignoring the protest of the hunter she was serving, and moved along the bar.

Sam crossed the room in long strides, coming to a stop beside Ash. "What have you got?"

"Demon signs. Big ones."

Ellen sucked in a breath. "Where?"

Ash looked apologetic. "Denton."

"Dean…" Sam started.

Ash nodded. "Yeah. Same spot."

Sam's eyes widened and he raced for the back. Ellen called after him but he didn't even pause. She whipped around the edge of the bar and followed him through the hall and kitchen and outside just in time to see him yanking open the door to her Ford.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Denton is where Dean goes. Ellen, he's alone." He threw himself in behind the wheel. The engine started and Sam reversed out of his spot. He spun the wheel and pulled out onto the road, tearing away from her.

Ellen watched him go and then turned on leaden feet and went back into the bar. Ash was still standing by his laptop, staring at the screen with wild eyes.

"Tell me the signs are gone," Ellen said when she reached him.

"Wish I could," he said, without looking at her. He ran a hand through his hair. "Ellen, this is bad."

"You think I don't know that?"

"No, I mean really bad. These are the biggest signs I've seen since Yellow-Eyes and Sam's running right to them." He glanced at her then looked away as if he couldn't bear to see her reaction. "He's running to it without a weapon. Singer still has the colt."

Ellen gripped the edge of the bar for support. "Oh God."

* * *

The Ford was slow, too damned slow, despite the fact Sam was pressing down as hard as he could on the gas. He was barely ten above the limit, and he cursed Ellen's reliance on such an old heap.

He should never have let Dean take the Impala. He should never have let Dean go at all. Dean should have stayed at The Roadhouse where it was safer. It wasn't _safe_. No place was safe for them anymore apparently. Dean couldn't even meet his woman without a demon descending. Oh, God, the demon. What was it doing? There was no way it was coincidentally hanging around the same town as Dean. That would rely on luck Winchesters didn't possess. Whatever it was doing, it was there for Dean, Sam just knew. Was it Lilith?

He'd tried Dean's cell three times only to get voicemail straight away each time. Throwing his phone disgustedly on the seat beside him he swore to himself that he was going to have a long talk to Dean about keeping his phone switched on in future, no matter what—or who—he was doing.

Stupidly, the thought that he was about to meet his brother's girlfriend in the worst possible way occurred to him as he pushed the engine to its limits along US-6. Not only was she going to meet Sam in all his Frankenstein-neck glory, she was going to get the jolt of her life when Sam burst in to save them from a demon. It was highly unlikely Dean had told her about that side of his life. Poor girl was going to be changed for life because of this.

 _That's if she lives…_ a voice whispered to him. _What if the demon's already taken her out? What if it's taken Dean out?_

Sam's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. That wouldn't happen. He would get there in time to take care of the demon and they would both be okay. That was what he did. He was a hunter.

 _Not always fast enough though, right? Think of Dad. Think of Jefferson and Rick. Think of all the others you've failed to save._

Sam shuddered. He wouldn't fail this time. He would save Dean. His woman, too, if he could, but first and foremost Dean. He would save his brother.

All the anger at the situation with Dean killing the demon disappeared as his stress rose. He had been a dick to his brother for weeks now, ever since Bobby's declaration that he'd lost his old life. He'd been so pissed that the door could be closed for Dean, cursing him to a hunter's life, that he'd taken it out on the wrong person, keeping him at arm's length. He should have laid the blame at his own feet where it belonged. He'd been the one to encourage Dean.

It didn't matter what life was open to him anymore as long as there _was_ a life.

He knew where Dean would be from the GPS Ash had tracked before. He'd even been amused by it—Dean checking into the same motel John and Sam had frequented once upon a time when they needed time away from The Roadhouse. He wasn't laughing now, but he was relieved he knew where to go.

The storm started when he got within the town limits. It raged above him, lightning flashing across his vision and thunder rolling overhead. The demon was still there. He tried to push the engine faster.

When he got to the road the motel was located on, his gaze swept the parking lot. The Impala was there— _Dean is there, thank God—_ and parked beside it wasa vivid orange Mustang. They were both there.

He swung into the lot and skidded to a halt, throwing open the door and slamming it behind him. The rain drenched him almost immediately, but he barely felt it. He was too preoccupied with Dean.

There was a mother and child standing under the cover of an upper balcony. As Sam jogged past, barely glancing at her, the child's face broke into a wide smile and she greeted him brightly. "Hi there!" Sam didn't respond to her, and barely heard her remonstration to her mother. "He's rude."

When he got to the motel room the two cars were parked in front of, he raised his hand to knock on the door, unmindful of what he might be interrupting, but before he could knock, he noticed something on the windowsill. There were streaks of watery yellow dripping down in the rain from the window. Sulfur.

Terrified of what he would find inside, he hammered on the door, knowing he was going to draw attention of the rest of the guests, including the mother and child. There was no response inside the room that he could hear over the thunder. He knocked again for the last time—if they didn't open up now he was kicking it down—and it opened.

The woman was attractive, with blonde hair and a slim figure, but Sam barely paid a moment's attention to her face. It was her eyes he focused on. They were wide with fear as she said, "Oh," but there wasn't only fear, there was recognition. She knew him. She was afraid of him. He had never seen her before, but he was sure in that moment he knew who she was, and what was happening—what a perfect ruse it was, how much she must have enjoyed it, playing at being human for Dean, making him fall for her.

"Lilith!" he growled.

She took a step back and half-turned to face Dean. "He's crazy."

But he wasn't. He was sure he was right. The storm, the sulfur, she was a demon, and what demon would have more to gain by having Dean this way?

Sam stepped into the room, his lip curling with disgust. "Christo!"

She turned from Dean to him and her eyes were demon black.

* * *

 **So… Thanks to Bobby's certainty, Sam's been a dick to Dean. Do** _ **you**_ **think he can ever return to his old life given what he's done and how he's changed? Have we said goodbye to Social Worker Dean for the last time?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all the help and support.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eleven**_

Ruby flitted around the room searching for her absent panties, the rest of her clothes in her arms.

"I'll ask you one more time, Winchester, where did you put them?"

Dean lolled back again the pillows and laughed. "I told you, you don't need them. You look much better without."

"Maybe I do, but unless you want me opening the door to the pizza delivery boy naked, I'm going to need them. I'm all for surprising people, but I think we'll have a hard time getting them to deliver again if I surprise the poor kid like that."

Dean laughed even harder. "I bet we'd get the pizza for free if you did. The poor kid we had last time looked like he'd never even rounded first base."

"You're a cruel, cruel man."

"Maybe."

Dean needed this, this levity between them. He'd been struggling back at The Roadhouse for weeks, ever since Bobby came. He didn't know what he'd said to Sam, but whatever it was had him treating Dean like an acquaintance again instead of a brother. It was like slipping back through the months to the Sam who had sat down with a bottle of whiskey and told him the story of his scar. It bothered Dean more than he wanted to admit. They'd been doing so well building a relationship again and now it was like Sam was permanently pissed at him.

Ruby came back to the bed and climbed over Dean, straddling his legs. She eased back the sheet and tutted. "Shorts, huh? Why do you get your underwear but I don't?"

"I'm shy," Dean quipped.

She shook her head. "I _know_ that's not true." She leaned forward and touched her lips to his, barely brushing them. Dean pushed forward and tried to deepen the kiss, but she pulled back. "Panties first."

Dean groaned but reached behind him for the scrap of satin he had hidden. She snatched them out of his hand and jumped from the bed.

"But…" Dean started.

"No kisses for thieves," she scolded.

"I wasn't stealing, just borrowing."

She grinned at him. "If you wanted to borrow my panties, you just had to ask. I've got no objection to you wearing them."

Dean grimaced. "Thanks, but no."

Ruby dressed quickly and ran a hand through her hair, trying to straighten the mess Dean had made of it with his fingers. She lay beside him again and rested her head on his chest. "Are you going to stay tonight? It's bad out there."

That was true. A big storm was raging outside the window. That wasn't a good enough excuse to stay though. He needed to be back at The Roadhouse.

"I can't," Dean said regretfully. "Sam will worry."

"You sure about that? Hasn't he been a bit of a moody teen lately?"

Dean shook his head. "It's not like that. He's got something on his mind, something more than the usual, and until I can find out what it is, I can't help."

She traced a hand over his stomach, making his muscles twitch. "You're a good brother, you know."

"I've got a lot of making up to do," Dean replied. "I missed a lot and there were consequences for me not being there. Besides, he's my family."

"Like I say, a good brother."

Dean smiled. He was _trying_ to be a good brother. It was hard with Sam shut down again like he had been.

Just then, there was a pounding on the door over the sound of thunder. "Ah, dinner," Ruby said, swinging her legs off the bed and getting gracefully to her feet. She grabbed Dean's wallet from the table and made for the door as the pounding came again, faster and louder than before.

"Okay, okay," she muttered. "Eager much?" She pulled open the door and took a step back. "Oh." There was something more than shock in her voice, there was something that sounded a lot like fear.

Dean sat up so he could see who was there, and his eyes widened as Sam's face was thrown into sharp relief by a flash of lighting.

Sam didn't even spare Dean a glance. His attention was fixed on Ruby. "Lilith," he growled.

Ruby took another step back and half turned to face Dean. "He's crazy," she said breathlessly.

Sam stepped into the room and his lip curled back with disgust. "Christo!" he snarled.

In the second before she looked away from him, Dean saw her eyes change to demon black.

"Ruby?" Dean was stunned.

She shook her head jerkily at Sam. "It's not what you think. I'm not Lilith."

Sam swung out a fist and punched her across the jaw. She reeled back, a hand to her face. Sam was already stepping forward into her space, his fist raised ready to deal another blow.

Dean lurched off on the bed, the sheet tangling around his legs making him stumble. He moved forward even though his confused mind was not sure who, if anyone, he was going to defend. The fact that Ruby was a demon wasn't fully processed. He could only think of the woman he'd moved inside less than an hour ago.

He was behind Ruby, reaching for her shoulders—to pull her back or hold her still, he wasn't sure—but before he could touch her, Ruby spun on her heel and shoved out a hand at him. She didn't make contact, but Dean was forced back regardless. It was as if an invisible wall had sprung up, pushing him backward until he fell on the bed where he became pinned, unable to move forward even an inch.

Her momentary distraction with Dean earned her another punch from Sam. Her head rocked back, and she hissed, "Animal."

"Look who's talking," Sam snarled, pulling back his fist again.

She was faster. The blow collided with Sam's jaw and his head jerked to the side. Dean had fought Ruby multiple times in their training, and he'd felt her pulled punches. They had been tough. She wasn't pulling her punches now, though. Sam was getting her full force.

"Stop!" Dean shouted.

They both ignored him.

She punched Sam in the gut, right over the spot he had been shot, and he grunted in pain, bowing over. He coughed harshly, a hand on his gut, and Dean was sure that was the end, Sam was out, but he rallied, straightening and kicking Ruby in the side.

She staggered back. "I just want to talk."

"Sure," Sam said. "I just want to talk, too. Just a little Latin I think you'd like."

Dean was shouting now, barely articulated pleas for them to stop, for Sam to listen, for Ruby to leave him alone, but he might as well have stayed silent for all the notice they paid him.

Ruby surged forward, her fists raised like a boxer, and Sam landed a punch on her temple. Ruby shook her head as if dazed, and then returned Sam's punch with such force it knocked him back a few feet.

Dean didn't understand it. He had fought Ruby and been bested every time—unsurprisingly since she was apparently a demon—but Sam was matching her. He was strong and practiced, Dean knew that, but it made no sense—no sense until he saw Sam stepping forward in time to catch another blow to the cheek just so he could land one of his own. Dean fought defensively, his goal to injure while not being taken down himself, whereas Sam threw himself into the fight, accepting the pain as a means to cause some of his own.

Ruby kicked Sam once more on the gut, and Sam fell against the table where their jackets lay, knocking them to the floor. Dean saw something spark in Sam's eyes, just as he tilted to the side and fell to the floor.

"Sam!" Dean bellowed, scared for his brother.

Sam spat blood onto the floor and Dean was sure this had to be the end. Ruby pulled back a foot, ready to lay another kick to him, but Sam was already moving. His hand whipped something from the tangled jackets and then there was a flash of metal and Ruby was crying out in pain. Sam had the knife Ruby had killed Pride with in his hand and he'd jabbed it into her leg.

He got to his feet, no sign of his previous defeat in him, and Ruby limped back against the wall. Sam advanced on her, the knife gripped tight in his hand.

Her eyes were wide as she said. "Let me explain. I'm _not_ Lilith. I want to help you."

Dean could only see Sam's profile, but he recognized the expression, or lack of. Sam's face was a mask. He was preparing to kill.

Ruby looked desperately at Dean for a split second and then she disappeared. The force holding Dean vanished. He stayed half lying on the bed for a moment, stunned at what had just happened, and then he was on his feet, walking toward Sam who was staring at the place Ruby had been only a moment before.

"Sam?" he asked tentatively.

Sam turned and Dean saw the red skin that would blossom into spectacular bruises soon and the closed off expression. "Put your clothes on," he said in a dead voice. "We've got to get out of here."

He stowed the knife into his pocket and walked out of the door into the still raging storm. Dean watched him go, a leaden feeling in his stomach.

What the hell had just happened?

* * *

Ellen raced around the bar to Sam the moment he walked back in. She threw her arms around him and squeezed hard before leaning back and cupping his bruising cheek. "Thank God," she whispered, looking into his eyes. "What happened?"

"Bad hunt," Sam said curtly, mindful of the fact the bar was full of hunters who would be listening hard to their conversation.

Dean came in behind him and Ellen hugged him next. "You okay?" she asked him.

Still looking stunned, Dean nodded.

Sam leaned over the bar and retrieved a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He looked at Dean and jerked his head toward the door leading to the back. Dean nodded and followed him out of the bar and through to the kitchen.

Sam took a seat at the table and poured them both a large measure of whiskey. He took a slug of his own and then set the glass back down hard. Dean was still standing in the doorway. He looked nervous. As if he expected Sam to launch an attack at him at any moment.

"Sit down before you fall down," Sam said quietly, trying hard to keep his voice even. Dean sat and Sam pushed his glass toward him. "Drink."

Dean took a sip of his whiskey. "Sam…" he started, "I'm so sorry."

Sam shook his head. He didn't want or need apologies. "How did it happen?" he asked.

"I didn't know what she was," Dean said almost desperately. "I thought she was just a hunter."

Sam gestured for him to go on.

"She's the woman who came when we were fighting the Sins."

Sam knew that already from her possession of the knife but he didn't interrupt.

"She came again when you were in the hospital. She said she'd heard what happened. She was just checking in."

Sam noticed Dean said she _was_ checking in rather than she'd _said_ she was checking in. Did he still believe the demon was there to help?

"I asked if she knew about Lilith. She said she didn't exist."

"She would say that," Sam said darkly. She was hardly going to announce that she was the demon they were searching for.

Dean cleared his throat. "She's been teaching me, training me. We've been meeting a few times a week for lessons. She's been making me a better hunter."

That wasn't all though. Sam hadn't walked in on a training session. It had been something completely different that he'd interrupted. It didn't make sense though. Hooking up with Dean he could understand. That would be a huge joke to the demons—Dean sleeping with the demon that held his deal and not even knowing it—but training him… What was her motivation?

"I didn't know," Dean said again. There was hurt in his voice. Of course he was hurt. This wasn't the Dean of years before, the Dean who had treated women like a hobby. He _felt_ now. Had he loved the demon? Sam felt sick.

"I know you didn't," Sam said, trying to stamp down his own feelings of revulsion and disappointment.

It a twisted way, it was good that this had happened, Dean's devastation and Sam's aching gut aside, because they now had a face for the demon—though she could change that at any moment by the simple act of taking a new meat suit. There might be other clues though. Dean had to have gotten to know her in the weeks they'd been together. Perhaps he would have some insight that could help them.

It wasn't the time to ask Dean about that though. He was still reeling from the revelation that his girlfriend was a demon.

Sam slugged back the rest of his whiskey and gasped. "Okay," he said. "We've got to get more information on her. We've got this knife now and the colt. We need to find out where she is and then go after her. Ash can keep tracking the signs, and we can get some inside information from some demons about her habits. We'll work something out."

"That's it?" Dean asked. "You're not going to chew me out for being stupid and risking everything?"

Sam looked at him sympathetically. "Dean, you're a grown man. It's not my place to chew you out when you make a mistake."

Besides, no one could make Dean feel any worse then he already did. Sam thought Dean's own disappointment would haunt him for a long time, possibly forever, because Dean _felt._

* * *

Dean tried not to dwell on Ruby. He tried not to think of her, but sometimes, late at night or early morning, when he was poised between sleep and wakefulness, her face would come to him. He would remember the way her hair felt running through his fingers, the way she would cling to him in the throes of passion, the way they would lie in bed and talk for hours about everything and nothing. He'd not had a relationship like it in a long time, and he'd not realized how much he missed it. But it wasn't a relationship, couldn't have been, because she was a demon.

Unlike Sam, he didn't believe Ruby was really Lilith. He'd tried making his point, but Sam wouldn't even discuss her. If she had been Lilith, big demon signs would have followed them. They hadn't. The only time there had been anything big was the night they'd last seen each other. He thought Lilith herself _had_ been there that night, possibly watching him and Ruby. And there was what she had said— _'I want to help you.'_ She'd seemed so sincere. She'd held Dean away while she fought with Sam. If she was Lilith, if she'd wanted him dead, she could have snapped his neck like a twig. He just didn't believe it. A small, unacknowledged part of him knew he didn't want to believe.

Instead of discussing Ruby and what had happened, Sam kept them busy. Despite the fact there were no big demons signs through Ash's tracking, they hit the road and crossed the country looking at the smaller signs of activity. They weren't lucky. The demons either moved on before they got there or hid well. The problem was that they could pass a demon on the street and not realize what it was. Hell, they could jump into bed and make love to it and not realize. Dean had proven that.

After weeks of fruitless searching, Sam decided they needed to cut down the legwork and go for the easy targets—crossroads demons. They were getting nowhere though. Despite Sam's intense questioning, they had no new information on Lilith.

Dean ached to ask each demon about Ruby—who she really was and what she had been doing with him—but he didn't. He didn't want to piss Sam off since he seemed to be in a better mood than he had been for the weeks previous to Ruby's reveal.

They were at yet another crossroads and Sam was painting in the last of the devil's trap that encompassed the area. He stepped back, looked it over, and nodded to himself before bending to scratch at the gravel earth to make his offering. When he'd buried it, he came back to stand beside Dean and pulled the demon killing knife from his pocket.

The demons usually came fast, ready and eager to get another soul, but this time there was nothing. Dean had wondered once before if every crossroad housed a demon or if some were just plain crossroads. He was about to venture the possibility that they may had found a dud, when he heard the crunch of gravel behind him. They both spun on their heels, Sam raising the knife, to see a man striding towards them with a smug smile in place.

"Sorry, boys," he said. "Your call cannot be taken at the moment. Please come back to kill a demon later."

Sam jumped forward and slashed out with the knife, but the demon vanished as quickly as Ruby had back at the motel.

Dean turned, eyes roving the area. He saw the man's reappearance on the other side of the neatly painted in devil's trap. He walked right to the edge of it, as if going to step right in, and then chuckled. "Nice try, but I'm smarter than the average demon."

"Who are you?" Sam spat.

"Of course, I forgot to introduce myself. Name's Crowley. I'm King of the Crossroads." His eyes flashed red for a moment before returning to normal. "I've been wanting a word with you two for a couple weeks now, but unfortunately I didn't have your numbers saved to my speed dial, and that naughty Ruby doesn't share the info."

Dean's heart jumped. "Ruby?"

The demon laughed softly. "Ah, yes, I heard about that. You missing your sweetie yet, Dean?"

"What do you mean she doesn't share the information?" Sam asked.

"She's been keeping tabs on you two, sneaky thing that she is. I can feel it now that I'm close to you, but I can't tap into it. Witches know all the best tricks."

"If Lilith can track wherever we are, why hasn't she come after us yet?" Sam asked.

Crowley frowned. "Lilith _can't_ track you, you numbskull. Ruby _can_."

Sam scowled. "You say that like they're not one and the same."

Crowley frowned for a moment and then burst into raucous laughter. He laughed for a long time; when he choked himself to calm again he wiped at his eyes and sniffed. "You think Ruby is Lilith. I heard you were dumb, but this is unbelievable. Okay. Let me give you a little history lesson. There once was a girl called Ruby. She made a deal with a demon to power up her witchy ways. Her deal came due and she was dragged to the pit. As always happens eventually, her soul became black and twisted. A demon. Like every other demon topside, she managed to drag herself out of the pit. She found herself a nice meat suit, pretty young thing, and started to enjoy life. Here's the thing. She shunned other demons, hunting them and killing them even with the nifty knife you're holding, gigantor."

"You're kidding me, right?" Sam said. "She's a demon that kills other demons?"

"Yep. None of us know why though. Like I said, she's sneaky. Point is, she is demons' most wanted."

Dean's mind couldn't take it all in. Ruby _had_ been telling the truth about hunting demons. Did that mean she was telling the truth about it all? He wanted to believe, but at the same time he was scared to hope.

Sam spoke, breaking into his thoughts. "And Lilith is?"

"The boss," Crowley said. "The first. The greatest. The one we all have to bow to in all her white-eyed glory. Ruby is a flea on the arse of a rat in comparison when it comes to power, despite her witchy ways. Anyway… I came for a reason, and it wasn't to ease Dean's heartbreak. I need something from you."

"What could you possibly want from us?" Sam asked.

"Well, it's more of an order than request. Stop killing my sales team! I am sick of having to replace them. It's annoying and I have better things to be doing."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Why would we do that? Annoying you seems like a good thing to me."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Why would you? How about because if you don't I am going to stab your big brother through the heart with that knife and send him on home early. You know I can do it. I'm a demon. You're a man. Which one of us do you think has the upper hand? Besides, I'm not just speaking for myself. You're getting on Lilith's nerves, too. The more time I spend organizing my employees, the less time I have to dedicate to her. Really, boys, she was invested in the year between deal and collection for its entertainment purposes, but now you're just getting irritating. If you carry on she'll have you both killed out of sheer annoyance."

Dean swallowed hard and Sam looked at the demon stonily. "I will kill you if you come near him," Sam said.

Crowley shrugged. "You can try, might even be interesting. I heard your little punch-up with Ruby was quite the treat to see."

"What would you know about that?" Sam asked.

"You had an audience," Crowley said. "Remember the mother and cute kid? Lilith. Guess she wanted to check in on her purchase. Why she didn't kill Ruby while she was there is beyond me. Guess she was too caught up in the _show_." He leered at Dean, making Dean sure he wasn't just referring to the fight. Was Lilith there listening while he and Ruby screwed? Was she maybe watching through a crack in the curtain? Dean turned away, disgusted.

Crowley clapped his hands together. "Let me see. Messages delivered. Fun had. One Winchester freaked into celibacy. I think that's my to-do list for the day all checked off. Better be going."

"Wait," Sam shouted. "I want to talk to Lilith. Arrange a meeting for us."

"So you can kill her? I don't think so, mate. Unless… you think you can deal with her, save big brother maybe? You can't. She won't. Face it, Winchester, Dean's going to hell and there's not a damned thing you can do about it. If I were you, I'd start working through his bucket list." He looked from Sam to Dean, nodded once, and disappeared.

Sam cursed and turned wild eyes on Dean. "He's lying, "he said firmly. "The deal's not set in stone. I can and will break it. You're going to be okay."

Dean nodded slightly. He believed Sam, well, most of him did, but his deal wasn't his concern in that moment. Ruby was. There was a chance she really was good, that she could help them. He was thinking of Ruby when his mind should have been occupied with saving his own life.

How fucked up was that?

* * *

 **So… Who was cheering Sam on in the fight? I loved that scene. It was so much fun to write. Hope you enjoyed.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	12. Chapter 12

**Huge thanks to my beta extraordinaire Jenjoremy. She makes the story so much better with her little edits and tweaks. None of it would be written at all if it wasn't for Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2. They give up their evenings to help me hammer out details and give each chapter the yay or nay before it becomes part of the story proper.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twelve**_

Dean lasted three weeks after their meeting with Crowley before he finally gave in and sent Ruby a message asking to talk. Her answer came fast, one word— **When?** He didn't bother to give her an address; he was sure she would able to find him. He just gave her a time.

He arrived an hour early at the abandoned warehouse they'd used to train, and he scouted the place for other demons. As much as he wanted to trust Ruby, to believe there was good in her despite the fact she was a demon, he wasn't going to let his guard down. He had the demon knife in one pocket and holy water in the other. He'd drawn a devil's trap inside the warehouse he could run to and through if she came after him. If it came down to it, if it was his life against hers, he would kill her. He desperately hoped it wouldn't be necessary.

He waited outside, leaning against the hood of the Impala, the picture of ease despite the fact his mouth was dry and his heart was pounding. He had to wait only a little while before he heard the Mustang's engine approaching, long before their appointed time to meet. He didn't change his position. He wanted to look calm and collected for her.

She pulled to a stop a distance away and paused for a moment to look around before climbing out. She walked towards him slowly, carefully, unlike her usual sashay. When they were less than twelve feet apart, she came to a stop. "No Sam today?"

Dean shook his head curtly. "No."

She came forward faster, until she was close enough that he could smell her perfume. She brought up a hand to his face, as if wanting to cup his cheek as she had so many times before.

"I missed you," she whispered.

He pulled back and sidestepped away from the car. She looked hurt but not surprised. She must have been expecting him to react like this. She couldn't have expected them to pick up where they'd left off.

"No, Ruby. We're not doing that. We're not pretending."

"I'm not pretending anything," she said. "I never pretended. I didn't tell you things and I had my secrets, but I didn't pretend with you."

"It comes down to the same," Dean said. "And that's not why I'm here."

"Why are you here then? You asked me to come. I came. What do you want, Dean?"

"I want answers."

"Then ask me a question."

"Why?" he asked, cursing the break in his voice.

"Why what?"

"All of it. Why did you save me from Pride for starters?"

"Because you needed me to. He was about to kill you."

"Why would you care? You're a demon." He couldn't keep the harshness of his disappointment from his tone.

She flinched. "I'm a demon, but I'm not like the others." She stiffened her shoulders. "Next question."

"The training. Surely a better trained hunter is more of a danger for you. What was the motivation for that? Was it just a way to get close to me?"

"You don't want to hear the answer, Dean," she said. "The answer for all your questions is the same thing. I _care_ , and you don't want to hear that, so what do you want me to say?"

Dean wanted to believe it; he wanted to think he had been more than a hookup to her, that she'd felt something for him like he'd felt—maybe still felt—for her. There was a flaw in his need though. "You're a demon."

"Well spotted."

"Demons don't care. They can't. They're just… _demons."_

"Do you know what a demon is?" she asked.

"Sure. A human soul that's been corrupted into something dark and twisted, something _wrong."_

She closed her eyes for a moment and when they opened again he thought he saw pain deep within them. "Yeah, it is. I am a corrupt human soul. That's what makes me a demon. What I _feel_ though, makes me different. Some demons remember nothing of their human life. It's all lost to them. Others remember it but feel nothing. They're just memories with no emotional connection. I'm different. I remember _and_ feel. I didn't lie to you when I said I lost my family. They were all killed by a pandemic. I was the only one left, and I was afraid. I needed to protect myself. I made a deal with a demon for witchcraft so I could find a way live. I figured ten more years of life was better than being taken by that disease. When my deal came due, the hounds arrived and I was dragged to Hell." She stopped, looked at him, and then cut her tale short. "I came out a demon when the Devil's Gate opened, but I wasn't a proper demon. I remembered and I cared." She looked into his eyes, seeming to try to communicate something with him, something more than her words had said. "I'm not like the others. I care, Dean. I care about you more than anything. I—"

Dean cut her off before she could say something he would never be able to forget. "Is that why you kill other demons, because you care?"

"In a way. I kill other demons because I can. Because doing it saves lives. Because… I can't bear to see them knowing that we are so similar but so different. Killing them is, was, the only thing that gave me peace."

"What gives you peace now if not killing?" Dean asked. It seemed a sick idea to him that killing gave her peace. It didn't cross his mind that Sam might feel the same way with the direction his life had taken.

"Being with you."

Dean shook off her words, not wanting to hear them in that moment. It was just too damn hard and confusing for him. "You told me Lilith isn't real," he said instead.

She ducked her head. "I did. I was afraid for you. I knew if you believed she was real, you'd make it your mission to go after her, and that would get you killed. You think the colt is enough."

"It's a gun that can kill anything. I'm pretty sure that's enough."

"No," she said, impassioned, "it's not. You need a target with a gun, and Lilith won't let herself be a target. She'll move on before you can take the shot. She'll hurt you. I doubt she'll kill you herself, she'll want the hounds to do that, but she'll kill Sam out of petty annoyance."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the horror of the possibility, and then opened them.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she said. "I don't want to scare you. I do want to help."

"How can you help?" he asked hoarsely. "If the colt isn't enough…"

"There's another way, but I need you to trust me for it to work."

"How am I supposed to trust you after everything?"

"Because, if you want to live, you don't have a choice. I canhelp you, Dean. Please, _please,_ let me help you."

This time he didn't step back when she moved towards him. When her hands came up to hold his face, he leaned into them, and when her lips brushed against his, he pressed back. He lost himself in the kiss. It was memory and heartache. It was peace and forgetting. He didn't think about the fact she was a demon in that moment. She was just Ruby and she cared. _Please God let her care._

"You have got to be fucking _kidding_ me!" a harsh voice said behind them.

They pulled apart and Dean turned. He swallowed hard. Sam was standing on the grassy knoll that ran alongside the road, the grass that must have hidden his footsteps from them both. He looked livid. His eyes were slits and his hands fisted at his sides.

"It isn't what it looks like, Sam," Dean said quickly, moving to stand in front of Ruby with his hands raised.

"Really?" Sam laughed once, a bitter sound. "Cause to me it looks like you're kissing a demon. How long has this been going on? Have you been meeting in secret ever since last time? Actually, forget I asked. I don't want to know. I'm out of here."

He turned away and started along the road again.

"Wait!" Dean shouted, rushing after him. He caught Sam's sleeve, but Sam yanked out of his grip and spun to face him, his face twisted with fury.

"No, Dean. I can't stay because if I do, I am going to get that knife I can see bulging your pocket and I am going to shove it through her throat. I figure that might upset you a little, so I'm going to leave you two to get on with it." He held out his hand. "Give me the keys?"

"The keys?" Dean said stupidly, his mind working slowly.

"The keys to _Dad's_ car," he spat. "I'm not having you fucking a demon in what was his."

Dean stepped back, his heart clenching painfully. To think Sam would believe he could do that, disrespect their father that way.

 _But fucking a demon in a motel is something that'd make him proud?_

"Just stop and listen," Dean pleaded. "She said she can help me. Help us. Please, Sam, just give her a chance to explain."

Sam raised an eyebrow, his tension still obvious. He didn't walk away though. He looked over Dean's shoulder at Ruby. "Go on then," he said. "Tell me how you can help us."

Trusting Sam to control his temper for a moment, Dean stepped back and looked at her as well.

"I can help by telling you Lilith isn't going to be killed by the colt," she started.

"It's a gun that can kill _anything_ ," Sam snarled, unknowingly echoing Dean's words. "I think it'll do the job."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and if you could get a bullet in her, it would kill her, but like I told Dean, she's not going to let herself be shot. She'll be out of there before you have a chance to even go for the trigger."

"We'll trap her," Sam said.

"You might as well throw marshmallows at her for all the good it'd do you to try. She's not some dumbass foot soldier. She's the boss. She won't be trapped by you two."

Dean saw the flicker in Sam's eye. It looked a lot like fear, but it was quickly quashed and replaced by menace.

"Says another dumbass foot soldier. How can we even trust this is the truth?" Sam asked. "You could be pulling this out of your ass to throw us off track."

"Dean trusts me," she said simply.

"Dean's not using his upstairs brain right now," Sam replied with a twisted smile.

Dean was annoyed at the barb, but he didn't say anything. Ruby was talking and Sam was listening, and he thought any interruption might just destroy whatever tenuous truce there was between them.

Ruby returned his smile. "Dean's the one thinking clearly because he actually wants to save himself. You're the one who can't see past your prejudices to see this is your only chance."

"You think I don't want to save my brother!" Sam was almost shouting he was so furious. "You don't know shit about me."

"I know plenty. I know a way to save him. Want to hear it or are you too busy being alpha male to listen to anyone but yourself?"

Sam stepped forward, his fisted hands coming up, and Dean stepped between them again, his hand on Sam's chest. "Sam, please," he said. "This could be it for us, for me. We have to hear her out."

Sam panted hard, and Dean could see him pushing down his anger. Then the mask slipped into place, and he was calm. "How can we save Dean?" he asked in a measured tone.

" _We_ can't," Ruby said. " _You_ can."

Dean frowned and glanced back at her. She looked like she was holding some great secret inside her and she couldn't wait to share it. "Ruby?"

She fixed her eyes on Sam. " _You_ can take care of Lilith."

"But you said the colt…" Dean started.

She shook her head. "Not the colt. Sam's abilities."

"His abilities?"

Sam seemed to understand more than Dean. His mask disappeared and he laughed. "Sure, I'll just vision up a solution, shall I?"

"Visions aren't the only thing Azazel gave you, are they? Remember Ansem Weems? Remember little Ava? You've just got to open your mind and you can do it." She smiled widely. "You can save him."

Dean was confused but Sam was nodding slowly. He looked stunned and maybe a little sick, but there was also a familiar look of determination there. The same look Dean had seen just before he shot himself with the colt.

Sam swallowed hard and asked, "What do I have to do?"

Ruby smiled beatifically and said. "I can help you. You'll need to train yourself. But first you need to trust me, and you don't yet, not like Dean does."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah? I know how you got Dean to trust you, and believe me when I say I'm never getting that close to you."

"Like I'd let you. No, I was thinking something a little more basic. How's Mr. Singer doing with the colt? Solved the bullet problem yet?"

"I thought you said the colt wouldn't work," Dean interjected.

"It won't, but Lilith goes nowhere alone," Ruby said. "She's going to have backup, foot soldiers, hellhounds, and the colt will kill _them."_ She clucked her tongue. "You boys really have no idea what you're facing, do you?"

"We know, thanks," Sam growled.

"No, you really don't. You think Yellow-Eyes was bad. He's an amateur compared to Lilith."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes dark with anger and something else Dean couldn't define.

"You guys need a lesson in demonology," she said, apparently oblivious to Sam's building anger. "Luckily, you've got me. Now, shall we get to work? These bullets aren't going to make themselves."

Sam nodded once and walked away to the Impala. He stood by the driver's side door with his hand out. Dean looked once at Ruby, returned her smile, and then handed Sam the keys and got into the passenger side. He was confused as all hell. He didn't know who these people Ruby mentioned were—Ansem and Ava—or what they had to do with Sam's abilities, but for the first time since they'd met Crowley, he had hope that there really was something that could save him.

* * *

Bobby was red-faced and furious. "You're bringing a demon here!"

Sam looked at Dean. "This is all on you."

Dean grimaced. "I told you, she's not like the others, Bobby. She's good."

"Yeah, and I'm Santa," Bobby said sardonically.

Sam smiled grimly. He hadn't given Dean half the crap he deserved for what he had done—sneaking off to meet Ruby with no certainty that she wasn't going to kill him there and then. He'd wanted to, but he'd realized it wasn't Dean's fault. No matter what Bobby said about Dean crossing a line and being a hunter, he didn't have a hunter's instincts. He believed in the good in people, that there was hope, that lives could be saved without bloodshed. It was in his heart after all those years living as a civilian and his job. Dean believed Ruby was good because she said so, and because he cared for her.

The dumbass.

Sam trusted only a handful people in his life, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Dean, possibly Bobby—he still wasn't sure about him. He did _not_ trust Ruby. She was a demon. But there was a chance, the smallest chance that she could help him save Dean, so he endured her for now. After it was over, when Dean was saved, he was making no promises about what he would do next.

"Look, Bobby," Dean said reasonably. "She says she can help us with the colt. We need those bullets and you've been at it for months with no luck."

Bobby glowered. "It's not like I've been sitting on my thumb here. I've been doing my damndest."

"We know," Dean said quickly. "And we appreciate it."

Bobby looked away, his brows knitted together. "Fine. You're right. I'm doing a crap job of making the bullets—"

"I didn't say that."

"—but what makes you think demon bitch is going to do any better?"

Demon bitch was what Sam called Ruby privately, too, because that was what she was: a demon and a bitch that had her claws in his brother. Hopefully, she was also a demon bitch that would help them save Dean's life, help Sam train his abilities enough that he could do it himself.

He wasn't happy with the idea of opening himself up to his powers. Visions had been bad enough to bear. They made him something other than human. Not to mention the fact Ansem and Ava had been unhinged by their powers in the end. He had no choice though. He had to save Dean. If sacrificing a part of himself was what it took, so be it.

"She promised she can help," Dean said tentatively. "She said she could—"

Sam cut him off. He didn't want Bobby knowing about his abilities yet—or ever. "She said she knows the secret of the bullets. If there's even a chance she can help, we have to take it."

"And that means letting the bitch into my house why?" Bobby asked.

"We don't have to," Sam said. "If you'll give us the kit to make them we can do it somewhere else."

"Oh no," Bobby said. "Hell no. I'm not having you two damn fools running off with a demon. If it's happening, it's happening here."

Sam wondered what Bobby would say if he knew Dean had been sleeping with the demon. Neither of them had volunteered the information. It was up to Dean to share. Besides, Sam had a feeling Bobby would have a heart attack if he knew, and he didn't want to be responsible for that.

Bobby heaved a deep breath and looked from Dean to Sam. "Where's the thing lurking anyway?"

Dean looked uncomfortable. "She's waiting outside."

"You better get her in here then, hadn't you?"

Looking relieved, Dean went to the door and opened it. Ruby beamed as she entered, and then her smile faded as she reached the edge of the devil's trap Sam knew Bobby had concealed under the mat. Sam laughed at the consternation on her face. How could she have expected anything else?

"Someone going to let me out?" she asked bitterly.

Bobby walked forward slowly and lifted the corner of the mat. He scraped away some of the paint with a knife from the counter and straightened. "Bobby Singer," he introduced. "I hate demons."

"That's okay," she said. "I'm not that keen on paranoid bastards either."

Bobby looked livid, Dean afraid, and Ruby amused. Sam just stood by the counter, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for them to get over their little drama so they could get to work.

* * *

Sam didn't know what he was expecting it would take the make the bullets, but he was sure it would be more than some spoken Latin and a pentagram carved into the casing. For something so simple, it took a lot of bickering between Ruby and Bobby to do it. Dean stood nervously between them, probably ready to step in before Bobby gave into temptation and shot Ruby out of sheer annoyance.

When Ruby moved back from the table, dusted her hands off, and said, "We're done," Sam brushed past her and picked up one of the bullets to examine. Other than the pentagram, it looked like any other old bullet.

"You sure this is it?" he asked.

Ruby nodded. "Yep. They will kill anything."

Bobby slid a bullet into the cylinder and spun in into place. "How about we test them out?" he asked, lifting the gun and aiming at Ruby's foot.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm to stop him jumping between them and stepped forward himself and carefully plucked the gun from Bobby's grip. "We need to keep her around a little longer," he said.

"Don't have to kill her," Bobby said gruffly. "We can take off a foot and see if it sparks."

Sam almost smiled. He was glad he wasn't the only one who wanted to see Ruby taken out. Dean on the other hand looked worried.

"She'll be a pain in the ass if she has to hop," Sam said, staring at Ruby who rolled her eyes. "But the first time she steps out of line, we'll take her out," he promised.

"You'll try," Ruby said sweetly, glancing at Dean.

Sam shook his head. "No. I'll succeed."

"Anyway," Dean said loudly, "We need to test this out, right? We need a demon. We can't do the crossroads thing about without pissing that Crowley off."

Ruby's eyes widened. "Crowley!"

"Yeah," Sam said. "We met him. Got any other buddies hanging around we can kill?"

"No," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "And we'll need more than one for what we've got to do."

"What have you got to do?" Bobby asked in a growl. "What is that bitch getting you boys into?"

"Nothing that matters," Sam said quickly. "Ruby, find us a demon. As fast as you can."

"Yes, Master," she said with a sardonic bow. She scowled at Sam and Bobby then turned to Dean. "I'll see you soon."

Dean smiled and nodded even as she disappeared.

"Okay, you boys are going to tell me what the _hell_ is going on, right now!" Bobby shouted.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but Sam spoke over him. "What's going on is that we have a way to kill demons and save Dean. That's all that matters."

That was all that ever mattered now. Saving Dean. He had to save Dean, no matter the cost.

* * *

 **So… Sam's on a mission with an actual chance of succeeding this time. I knew when I started outlining this story that Sam would tap into his powers earlier than he did in canon. I thought it would be a riot to write. It wasn't. It was hard as all hell even just setting it up. I'm hoping it reads okay though. Tune in for the next chapter to find out.**

 **Also… HOW FREAKING GOOD WAS THE PREMIERE?! I have no words. If you want to squee with me over the awesome, drop me a PM.I love to chat.  
**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your magic on this one. You're a star. Thank you also Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for giving up your evenings to listen to me moan and wail about the chapters that won't work and helping me force them into submission.**

 **Thank you all that are reading. I appreciate each and every one of you.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirteen**_

Sam was distracted, quieter than usual, brooding, and it didn't take a lot for Dean to work out why—Ruby. To trust a demon went against everything their father had taught them. Sam lived by John Winchester's words still. He believed in him as a source of guidance and knowledge, and he was effectively spitting all over that by putting his faith in a demon. They had no choice though. It seemed like she was the only one that could help them.

Bobby was furious with them both for their silence. He knew they were plotting something with Ruby, but they weren't telling him what. Dean would have told him. He wouldn't have gone into even the vaguest details of his relationship with Ruby, but he would have told him that she was going to help Sam save him. Sam wouldn't even consider it though. Dean understood his reticence. Sam didn't trust many people, and Bobby wasn't one of them. He wouldn't want him knowing about his visions or apparently uncovered abilities that would help them with Lilith.

The day after they left Sioux Falls, holed up in a motel on the other side of Nebraska from The Roadhouse, Sam had told him the stories of the people Ruby had mentioned—Ansem and Ava. He explained how they'd opened themselves to the power, taking them beyond what they'd started with—mental compulsion and visions. Apparently, Ava had been able to summon and control demons by the end. It was something akin to that power that was going to save Dean. There was still something Sam wasn't saying though; Dean could tell that, despite the fact Sam was a good liar, he was holding something back, but he didn't push for it. Sam was already under too much pressure.

Ruby still hadn't come to them with a demon even a week later, though she kept in touch with Dean to say she was working on it, so Dean started looking around for something else to occupy them. He was trolling the news pages when he found the article detailing the sudden deaths of three people in a small Missouri town. Sam didn't even argue about taking the case. He just packed up his stuff and headed out to the car. When Dean got out there, he saw Sam sitting shotgun and the keys in the ignition, the usual invitation for Dean to drive.

Even after months of having the Impala back in his life, after long hours spent driving it, Dean still felt a thrill as he started the engine and pulled onto the road with the cassette tape playing and the wheels eating the asphalt. It felt good to be back, with Sam, on a hunt.

* * *

"Feds?" Dean asked, pulling his suit from his bag and hanging it on the back of the bathroom door.

"What?" Sam asked distractedly.

"Are we going in as feds?"

Sam looked up and frowned. "What do you think? It's your case."

Dean considered. It was a weak excuse for feds, as the deaths were being reported as accidents. "No, we'll do it Dad's way. Reporters."

Sam nodded and returned his attention to his clasped hands. His brow was furrowed and his expression thoughtful.

Dean sighed. He had hoped being on a case would give Sam something else to think about. He was usually so in the moment when hunting. He wasn't now though. The Ruby thing was really doing a number on him. Dean didn't know what to do about it, though. They had to work with her. She was helping them. He supposed he would just have to wait for Sam to make peace with what had to happen. Until then, he would do his best to distract him.

He sat down at the table across from Sam and booted up his laptop. "We've got three dead," he said. "All in 'accidents'." He waited for the page load and turned the screen so Sam could see the article with the three photos of the dead. "Barbara Stevenson, realtor, fell from the roof; Meghan Green, nurse, drowned in the pool; George Morrison, events planner, electrocuted by frayed wire in light switch."

"Any connection between them?"

"They all died at this old house that's being renovated on the edge of town. I tried looking into the history of the place, but the news archives only go back a month."

Sam nodded. "Okay. We'll see if there's anything in the library records. Place this small, it might have made news when it was sold."

Dean was pleased that Sam was getting involved and snapping out of his distracted silence. He shut down the laptop and stowed it in the bag while Sam changed out his travel-wrinkled shirt and into a clean blue one. Dean did the same and grabbed his bag from the table.

"We ready?" he asked.

Sam nodded and opened the door without a word. Dean sighed. Maybe he wasn't snapping out of it after all.

* * *

They walked into the library together and Sam made straight for the help desk while Dean looked around. He wasn't a novice to libraries. He had spent many hours of his youth researching in them and then later, in college, he had spent most of his study time in them. It sent a wave of nostalgia through him to be back.

He was just taking in the familiar scents and sounds when he noticed a flash of blonde hair making for the exit. At first he thought it was Ruby, and he felt a thrill of hope that she'd come through on the demon problem, but then he recognized the slight frame and his mouth dropped open.

"I think I left my cell in the car," he told Sam. "I'll be right back."

Sam didn't even turn. He just held out the keys and continued his conversation with the librarian about the newspaper archives.

Dean hurried out after her, catching her arm just outside the exit. She spun to face him, fear quickly replaced by relief when she saw who it was.

"Fancy seeing you here, Jo."

"Are you going to tell him?" she asked at once.

Dean shrugged. "That depends. Do I need to? What are you doing here? I thought you were visiting a college friend. She work in a library?"

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm hunting."

Dean sighed heavily. He'd guessed as much. "How long's this been going on?"

"Months," she said proudly. "I've been taking cases all over while I've been 'visiting friends'. Mom and Sam don't have a clue." Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "Well, they didn't. Don't suppose I can persuade you to keep it quiet, can I?"

Dean had thought, months ago when he'd first found Sam again, that Jo should make the choice of whether or not she hunted herself. That hadn't changed, despite the fact he knew her now and cared for her in a way he hadn't then. Or perhaps it was _because_ he cared about her now. It was her life and she should be able to decide what to do with it, as little as he wanted her putting her life at risk the way she was.

"I can be persuaded," he said slowly.

"Really?" She bounced on her heels and threw her arms around him in a hold so tight it knocked the breath out of him. "Dean, you're the absolute best." She pulled back and beamed at him.

"I have conditions though."

Her smile faltered. "Like?"

"Like you make sure you tell me what you're doing and where. If something happens, someone needs to know how to find you. You check in often and you don't take any stupid risks."

She nodded eagerly. "I can check in, no problem, and I'm not taking stupid risks. I'm smarter than that. I'm good at what I do, Dean."

Dean smiled. "I bet you are. So, tell me what we've got here."

She laughed. "Don't you already know?"

"Jo, we've been in town all of a couple hours. The library was our first stop."

"Man, you're slow. I caught this a couple days ago."

Dean raised an eyebrow. It wasn't like they'd been dicking around living the good life. It was easy for Jo She didn't have demon drama and a ticket to Hell hanging over her. She cared, Dean knew, but he didn't think she really understood what things were like for him and Sam. "We've been busy," he said dryly.

"You must've been. Anyway. I better get going. Got a house to check out. Try to stall Sam a couple hours before you go by. I so don't want to deal with him if he finds out what I'm doing."

"I'll do my best," Dean said. "But you know Sam. If he wants to go by the house, he'll go." Dean understood her worry though. Sam would lose it if he knew she was hunting. And he'd be beyond pissed at Dean if he found out he knew and hadn't told him. This wasn't the same thing as hooking up with a demon. This was Jo.

Jo grinned at him. "Thanks, Dean. Good luck with your search." She turned away and walked around the edge of the building to the parking lot, a bounce in her step. Dean watched her go and smiled. At least someone was having fun. Then he realized she'd bounced her way out of sharing information, too, and he shook his head.

When she was out of sight, he went back into the library and followed the signs to the archives department to find Sam sitting in front of a microfiche machine, flipping quickly through the views.

"Find it?" Sam asked.

"It was in my pocket the whole time," Dean said with a short laugh. "Must be losing my mind."

Sam smiled slightly, a forced and bitter thing, and nodded. "I've started with the 1900s, when the house was built. Pick a point and go from there. Let me know if you find something." He turned back to the screen and recommenced his search.

Dean sighed sadly as he took a seat at the next machine and got to work. He wished he knew what he could say to make it better for Sam. He wanted him to be happy again, not happy as he had been when he took down that Nixie, happy in the success of the kill. He wanted him to be happy and laughing as he had been on his birthday all those months ago. He had a feeling it was going to take the breaking of the deal to get him back to that point though.

* * *

"It's just terrible," the witness, Casey Adams, sniffled. "She was just floating there. Not moving. Some of the crew tried to save her but it was too late."

"It must have been awful," Jo said sympathetically, jotting a nonsense note on her pad. She was posing as an amateur reporter from a local college, wanting to do an article on death of Meghan Green, deceased alumna and maid of honor for Casey's upcoming wedding. She'd met her at a frou-frou café on Main Street, but now Jo was thinking a meeting at her house would have been better as Casey hadn't yet stopped crying and they were drawing the eyes of the other customers.

"She was my best friend," Casey said, "ever since grade school. I don't know what I'm going to do without her." She sucked in a breath. "She was going to be my maid of honor."

"I am very sorry for your loss."

"It's just so hard. It's like…" She trailed off, toying with her necklace.

"Like?" Jo asked.

"Robbie all over again," she said, dissolving into tears again.

"Who's Robbie?"

It took a long moment for Casey to gasp herself into calm again and Jo was impatient. She had a feeling _this_ was the case. So far all she had was the fact the victims were all connected to Casey, or more specifically, her wedding. Meghan as the maid of honor, the realtor having sold Casey and her fiancé their future home, and George as the wedding planner.

"Robbie Marx was my twelfth grade boyfriend," Casey said mournfully. "He was killed in a hit and run." She wiped at the fresh tears streaming down her face. "We were going to get married right after graduation."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jo said, internally rolling through the facts and matching it all up. She pasted on a sympathetic smile and said, "This must all be so hard for you. I heard there have been other tragedies, apart from Meghan."

Casey nodded slowly. "Yes… George, my planner was electrocuted while we were scouting the house, and my realtor actually fell from the roof." She shuddered. "I've never seen something so horrible. It's been so hard. The crew has shut down until a safety survey can be done. We were going to have the wedding at the house. I don't think there even will be a wedding anymore. Not for a while anyway. Things are just so messed up." She sniffled. "I don't know how to plan my own wedding, and George was the best in town."

Jo's sympathy for the woman dissolved on the spot. What kind of person prioritized their wedding over three deaths? Three deaths of people she actually _knew_? It was twisted and probably the most selfish thing she'd ever known. "Tell me more about Robbie," she said, following her hunch. "What was he like?"

"He was the best," Casey sighed. "He was on his way to see me when it happened. We were going to a movie. He was just crossing the street when he was hit. They never found the person that did it."

No justice, Jo thought. Common ingredient for a vengeful spirit. Add to that the approaching wedding of his lover and he would surely be lashing out."

"He was my one and only," Casey went on.

Jo fought the urge to raise an eyebrow at her. "But you're getting married."

"Well I can't spend the rest of my life alone, can I? I never forgot him though." She held the pendant she was wearing away from her chest for Jo to get a better look. It was a floating heart. The perfect gift for teen loves. ""I always wear this to remember him. It was his last gift."

"It's pretty," Jo said, flipping her notebook closed. "Well, I think I have enough for now. I'll be in touch if there's anything else I need." She got to her feet. "Thank you for meeting with me."

"Will I be mentioned in the article?" Casey asked curiously.

"Count on it," Jo said. She made for the door on quick feet, wanting to get away from the woman. When she got outside she pulled out her phone and dialed Dean's number. When he answered she spoke in a rush. "Can you talk?"

" _Hey, Bobby."_

So Sam was there. Jo would have to be quick. "I think I've got the cause of the deaths; it's a vengeful spirit. I've got a first name. I'm heading to the library to do a little more research. Is it clear now?"

" _We're working a case right now. Just taking a break for food at this nice little diner. As soon as we're done here, I'll give you a call."_

"Thanks, Dean."

" _No, problem, I'll—"_ There was a rustle on the line and then Sam's voice came over the receiver, quiet and measured. _"Jo, get your ass to Nelle's Diner. Now."_

"Sam, I—" She didn't know what to say, but it didn't matter anyway. Sam had already ended the call. "Oh crap," Jo breathed.

* * *

Sam slid the phone back across the table to Dean and picked his knife and fork up again. Dean grimaced, wondering just how bad the fallout from this was going to be. Sam didn't look pissed yet. He didn't look anything. The mask was firmly in place.

He'd figured Sam would eventually find out about Jo hunting, someone would let something slip or Jo would be forced to call in help, but he'd imagined it would take more than a few hours.

They'd spent the afternoon at the library looking at the archives, finding nothing on the history of the house. Over a hundred years there hadn't been a single mysterious death, murder or strange accident—until now anyway. Dean had suggested they stop for food and then see if they could weasel something out of the local PD. Sam had agreed without much enthusiasm, but he hadn't argued against the plan and Dean was hungry, so they'd gone to the diner.

Dean hadn't been expecting Jo's call. He figured she'd be dedicated to maintaining her independence on the case—beating him and Sam to the finish. Maybe he'd been too obvious when he answered. Maybe Sam had caught sight of the caller ID when the phone was on the table. Maybe he had known all along, what with Ash tracking the GPS locations. "How did you know?" he asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Libraries have windows and Bobby called yesterday. He usually goes a few days between calls. I took a chance."

"Look, Sam…" he started, not sure whether he was going to try to apologize for keeping it secret or to defend Jo's choices.

"Eating," Sam said curtly.

Dean _hated_ this, hated it when Sam shut down on him. It reminded him of the way things had been before his possession, when Sam was still treating him like an outsider. It was frustrating and upsetting, and just plain screwed. Dean hadn't done anything wrongother than respect Jo's choices. And Jo was going to get it so much worse than him. Sam wouldn't shut down with her. He'd likely explode.

The door to the diner opened and Jo came inside. Dean was pleased to see her face set with determination rather than worry. It would help her handle Sam. She threw herself into the booth beside Dean and stared across at Sam with her arms crossed over her chest.

Sam chewed his mouthful slowly, drawing out the moment before swallowing, and then said, "What have you got then?"

Jo's eyes widened. "What?"

Dean's mouth dropped open and he quickly snapped it shut. This was _not_ what he was expecting from Sam.

"The case, Jo," Sam said impatiently. "What had you got? So far we've got nada, and I figured you might have a little more. You've been here longer, right?"

She ventured a smile. "I've got a theory it's a vengeful spirit. The deaths are all linked to the wedding of Casey Adams. I interviewed her as a reporter—she's a real piece of work—and she told me about her high school sweetheart, Robbie Marx. He was killed by a hit and run. The driver was never found, so there was no justice. Add to that his one true love is getting married in a few months, and it smacks of trouble."

He nodded slowly. "Did you find out where he was planted?"

"That was the next step. I was going to look up the funeral announcement, see if they have a location listed."

"Good idea," he said approvingly. He pushed away his plate and got up from the table. "I'll leave you and Dean to do that. There's something I've got to do. Meet you back at the motel." He walked away without giving them a chance to answer.

When the door had swung closed behind him, Jo turned to Dean, her shock obvious. "What the hell was that?"

Dean shrugged. "No idea."

"Think it'll last?" she asked hopefully.

Dean shook his head. "Maybe. I doubt it. I think you're going to have to face the fact he'll blow eventually, but for now you've got a stay of execution." He nudged her elbow. "Make the most of it."

* * *

Dean didn't know what Sam had been doing while they were searching up the funeral announcement, but he was there when they got back to the motel. It couldn't have taken long, as they'd only been gone around thirty minutes, just long enough for them to find the article and learn that Robbie had been cremated.

Dean and Jo were sitting at the table now, watching Sam as he paced the room agitatedly.

"So, he's tethered," Dean said, breaking the silence.

Jo nodded. "Must be. It makes sense. I thought it was all tied to the house, but it's her. She's been there every time."

The problem was that they knew almost nothing about Robbie other than the fact he'd been dating Casey—dating seriously enough to plan an engagement.

"Any idea what it could be?"Sam asked, turning and looking at Jo expectantly while she thought.

"I don't… Oh! The necklace."

"Necklace?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, she said it was his last gift to her."

"Great," Sam said. "We've just got to nab the necklace, burn it, and we're done."

Jo made a face. "Um… that might be hard. She never takes it off."

Sam smiled grimly, surprising Dean. "That makes it even easier. We just need to find her and I can get it."

"How are you going to do that?" Jo asked. "I don't think she'd be up to persuasion."

"I'm not persuading her of anything," Sam said blandly. "I'm going to mug her."

Dean and Jo exchanged a glance. "You're kidding, right?" Dean said.

Sam shook his head. "No. Jo, can you call her again, say you've got follow up questions or something?"

"You're really doing this?" Jo said, sounding stunned.

"It's not like it'll be my first time," Sam said. "Are you going to make the call? If not I'll need an address."

Dean stared at his brother wide-eyed. "You'll break your way in?"

"No," Sam said. "I'll use a lock pick." He looked Dean in the eye, his expression impassive. "I've done this before."

Mugging! Breaking and entering! Just what the hell kind of life had Sam lived?

The answer came easily. _A hunter's life. The life that happened when you weren't there._

* * *

Sam wasn't kidding when he said he'd done it before. He was smooth as he stepped out of the alley just in time to collide with Casey, knocking her to the ground. Dean watched carefully as he tangled a hand in her hair as he helped her up, pretending to have his watch caught. In the process of 'freeing' it, he broke the chain and pocketed the necklace. After apologizing profusely to her, he strode away along the street, drawing no suspicion by rushing. Dean shook his head as he made his way in the other direction, circling around the block to meet Sam.

"Done," Sam said simply, tossing the necklace to Dean.

Dean caught it and looked at it. It was thin and fragile looking; it wouldn't take much to melt down.

"Got things to do," Sam went on. "Can I leave you to take care of that?"

"Things like Jo?" Dean asked. "I know you don't want her hunting, but she's a grown woman and she can make her own choices. She's already worried enough, so just… go easy on her, will you?"

Sam shook his head and laughed slightly. "You think I need to deal with Jo? She can do whatever the hell she likes. If she wants to hunt, good luck to her."

"But you…"

Sam shrugged. "There is too much crap going on right now for me to worry about her and what she's doing. Jo can make her own choices. I don't care."

Dean heard a shocked indrawn breath behind him, and he spun on his heel to see Jo standing behind him. Her eyes were glistening and she looked stunned. Dean cursed quietly. Sam had to have known she was there. He had said it all knowing she'd hear. What the hell was wrong with him?

He heard Sam's footsteps retreating but he didn't turn back; Jo needed him more in that moment. He slipped the necklace into his pocket, Sam's "mugging" had made sure Casey and those around her were safe for now, and opened his arms as she practically fell into them. Jo wasn't weak by any means, she was a spitfire, but Sam had cut her to the quick with what he'd said, and she was hurting. He brushed a hand through her hair, hating the shudders that were sweeping through her.

It didn't last long. She quickly marshaled herself and pulled back. "Thank you, Dean," she said quietly. "You should probably get back to the motel and pack up. Sam'll be back soon and he'll want to move on."

"What are you going to do?" Dean asked.

"Oh, I don't know, probably go to the nearest bar and get loaded."

"No," Dean said firmly. "We're going to find the nearest liquor store, stock up, and we'll go back to the motel and get loaded together. Sam can do what he likes. I'm drinking." He looked up the street and saw the Impala was still parked where he'd left it. He pulled the keys from his pocket and grinned. "And Sam can walk home."

Jo smiled, still looking a little sad. "You're a good friend, Dean."

"That's a yes?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, let's get wasted."

* * *

Ellen was leaning against the hood of her car outside the motel. Sam had sent a text a little while ago telling her to expect Jo and Dean back soon as they'd mostly finished up the hunt.

She'd had a long drive to think and attempt to calm herself down, but she hadn't exactly succeeded. She was just so mad that Jo would do this behind her back. Though even she had to admit Jo could never have been upfront with her about it without it ending in tears.

Jo was _hunting!_

As if their family hadn't lost enough to hunting already, Jo was throwing herself on the fire. Bill had been killed on a hunt. Sam had died because of it. Dean had a ticket to Hell because of the life. What temptation could that kind of pain present for Jo?

No, there was no calm in her. She was pissed.

The Impala pulled to a stop beside her, and she hid her clenched fists in her jacket pockets. Dean climbed out of the car first, a brown bag clinking in his arms, and Jo followed slowly, looking genuinely afraid, as she should, but also sad.

"Let's get inside," Ellen said. "We're not having this conversation in the parking lot."

Dean unlocked the door to the room in front of them and they filed inside. He set the brown bag on the table and Ellen pulled it over to her and lifted out a bottle of whiskey and another of tequila.

"Whiskey, Jo?" she asked. "Are you intentionally turning into your brother now? Sam such a good role model that you want to drink yourself stupid on top of risking your life?"

"Ellen, go easy," Dean started. "She's had a helluva—"

"You, shut your mouth," Ellen snapped. "I don't want to hear from a Winchester right now."

"It's not his fault, Mom," Jo said. "He's not the dick here."

"Are you calling me…" she started, her tone hard with fury.

"No," Jo said miserably. "Sam."

Ellen shook her head. Sam would have been so pissed when he heard about Jo hunting. He'd been even more set against it than Ellen, never wanting that life for Jo. "Let me guess. Sam reamed you out for being so damn stupid and now you're pissed at him."

Jo scoffed. "Yeah, right. Sam didn't ream me out. He didn't lecture. He didn't argue. He fleeced me for the facts of the case, and then proceeded to tell me he didn't care. I can hunt all I like because he doesn't give a shit about me anymore."

"You're lying," Ellen said, looking to Dean to denial.

Dean shook his head. "He didn't say that _exactly,_ but his reaction wasn't what any of us would expect. I don't believe he meant that he didn't care about Jo, but he didn't seem to mind her hunting."

Ellen closed her eyes, counted to ten to calm herself, and then opened them again. It didn't help at all. She was still furious. "Where is he?" she growled.

"Who knows?" Jo said. "Who cares?"

Jo cared. Whatever Sam had said had hurt her and she was venting. Ellen wanted to do some venting of her own, but it wasn't fair to do that in front of Dean. It wasn't his fault his brother was being such an asshole.

Ellen pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed. "Ash, find me Sam now."

" _He okay?"_ Ash asked, and Ellen heard the tapping of keys in the background.

"He's fine for now. He won't be once I get hold of him."

" _Sure thing, boss lady. He seems to be at a bar called The Hideout. It's on Main Street."_

"Figures," Ellen said. "Thanks Ash." She snapped her phone closed. "Okay. I'm going to have a little chat with Sam. Joanna Beth, you can drink. I figure you deserve it, but if you puke, you're clearing it up yourself. Dean, take care of her."

"You know it," Dean said.

Ellen smiled slightly at him and left the room.

It was a short drive to Main Street, and she parked outside the bar with its tacky neon signage. She walked in and looked around. It was even tackier inside, with ancient pop art cocktail glass paintings on the walls and a sticky floor. She spotted Sam at once, sitting at the corner of the bar where he'd have a good view of the entrance. He didn't even look up when she came in though, which was unusual.

As she got closer to him, she saw why he hadn't registered her arrival. He was wasted. His elbows were resting on the bar and they seemed to be the only thing holding him upright. His head was bowed and he was staring into his empty glass. Even as Ellen slid into the seat beside him, the pretty, young bartender slid two shots of whiskey in front of him with a cheerful, "There you go, hon."

Ellen grabbed one and knocked it back.

"That's a good way to get yourself in trouble," Sam said in a growl, raising his head slowly to look at her with bleary eyes. He frowned and blinked as he attempted to focus. "Ellen? What are you doing here?"

"You called me," she said. "Told me about Jo turning up on a hunt, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Forgot."

"I've just left a very upset daughter back at the motel," Ellen said coldly. "Got anything to say about that?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "What do you want me to say you? I already told you she's hunting."

"How about the fact you told her you don't care? Why the hell would you say that? You know how much she loves you, and I _know_ you love her. Why would you want to hurt her like that?"

"I didn't mean to hurt her, but I had to try."

"Try what?" Ellen asked.

"Ellen, how long have we been telling Jo she's not hunting? It's at least three years, right? And look what's happened." He smiled slightly. "Remember when she was young? When _we_ were young? The one way to get Jo to do anything was to tell her not to do it. She's so damned stubborn she'd do the opposite just out of sheer bloody-mindedness. I thought"—he drew a deep breath—"I thought it was worth a try."

Ellen sighed heavily, her anger evaporating. "Sam," she said sadly, "I don't think this is some rebellion thing. I think this is really what she wants from her life."

Sam bowed his head. "I can't do it, Ellen."

"Do what, honey?"

"I can't protect Jo _and_ Dean. It's too much." He looked her in the eyes and his were red-rimmed. "I can't do it. I am not going to be here enough to do it. I have to save Dean, and that's going to take so much of me that I have nothing left to give. I love her, you know that, but I don't think I can protect her. I am going to fail her like just like I failed Dean and Dad." He bowed his head. "I feel like I'm drowning."

Ellen felt wetness pool behind her eyes. Sam had opened up a lot in the year since he found Dean again, but he'd never opened himself like this to her. As hard as it was to bear his pain, it was such a relief to her to see him finally breaking. She knew he would be mortified by it all in the morning, if he remembered, but for that moment he _needed_ her as he hadn't for a long time. Though he was now tall and strong, broad-shouldered with an angular face where there had once been softness, she felt like he was the child asking for his brother again. She wanted to be there for him as she had then.

She cupped his cheeks in her hands, thumbing away the single tear that had escaped his control, and stared him in the eyes. "I'll save _you,_ Sam. You take care of Dean, and I'll take care of you and Jo both. You're not alone."

Sam nodded, smiled a little sadly, and said, "No. You'll try but I can't be saved anymore. Not if I'm going to save him."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Sam, what are you saying?"

Sam just shook his head and knocked back the shot of whiskey in front of him. "Doesn't matter, Ellen. It doesn't matter."

* * *

An hour after Ellen left the motel, she stumbled back in, red-eyed and miserable, supporting a drunk out of his mind Sam. Dean hurried to help her get him through the door, but when they tried to get him on a bed, he balked. "Not yet," he slurred. "Gotta talk."

They led him to the chair Dean had vacated and he fell into it. His cradled his head in his hands for a moment, elbows on the table, and then he straightened. "I need to talk to Jo."

"Oh no," Jo said, waggling a finger at him. "I _don't care_ about anything you've got to say." She was well on her way to blind drunk, too, and Dean thought whatever conversation Sam wanted to have should wait until they were both sober enough to remember it. Or maybe not. Perhaps Sam would only be able to talk openly with her when he was drunk out of his mind.

"Jo, you're listening," Ellen said firmly. "Dean, come with me."

Jo struggled to get to her feet, but quickly fell back into her chair and sighed. "Fine. He can talk. I'm not listening."

Ellen patted Jo's shoulder, a small smile on her face, and left the room. Dean glanced at Sam and received a nod in return before he turned and left, too. When they got out to the parking lot, Ellen leaned against the wall and locked her eyes on Dean, making him shift uncomfortably.

"Something you want to tell me, Dean?"

"Um… no?" he ventured.

"Try again. See, I've been talking with Sam, and a couple things he said got me a little worried."

"What did he say?"

Her mouth pressed into a thin line as she considered him. "He said a lot that's between him and me. There's something you can help me with though. I know the pair of you have been running yourselves ragged trying to find a way out of this deal, and I'm assuming there's been some kind of breakthrough. I want to know what it is."

Dean was torn. He wouldn't want her knowing they had an alliance with a demon. He wouldn't want her to know what Ruby had said about his powers And he definitely wouldn't want her to know he was planning to use those powers to control demons.

"Talk, Winchester," she snapped.

"I can't," Dean said regretfully. "Sam wouldn't want me to."

"You're damn right he wouldn't," she said. "But I _need_ to know. I need to know what's making him feel like he's…" She shook her head, cutting herself off. "I need to know so I can help him."

"Like he's what?" Dean asked. "What did he tell you?"

"You first."

Dean bit his lip, deep in thought. It wasn't as if he dedicated his life to what Sam wanted anymore. He hid things—like Ruby, and the fact was Jo was hunting—from Sam when it was necessary. But Sam would have told Ellen himself if he wanted her to know. He was torn. He really wanted to know what Sam had said to her about how he was feeling, and it seemed he wasn't going to get that until he opened up too.

"We've found an expert," he said hesitantly. "Someone that knows all about demons. She thinks there's a way we can break the deal, but it rests on Sam."

She nodded, something apparently confirmed to her. "Rests on him how?"

"His powers," Dean said. "The visions he was having. Apparently there's more he can do. He just needs to tap into it."

Ellen's face drained of color. "He's actually going to _use_ them? To delve into that part of his mind?"

"Well, yeah. She said it's the only way."

Ellen looked like she wanted to be sick.

"I don't like it either," Dean said defensively. "But he's determined. The colt won't do it, and he…"

"He has to save you," she said quietly, not speaking to Dean. "Of course he does." She looked up at Dean and smiled slightly. "We all do. We all need that deal broken." She sucked in a breath and cleared her throat. "Whatever you do, _whatever_ , don't tell Ash any of this. Understand? He's a good kid with a huge heart, but he can't keep a secret for love nor money when the PBR is in him."

"Of course," Dean said. "I won't tell him anything. But it's your turn. What did Sam tell you he feels like?"

Before she could even form an answer, the motel room door opened and Jo stumbled out, her eyes wet with tears. Ellen rushed to her and supported her as she slumped against the wall. "You okay?" Ellen asked her.

Jo nodded disjointedly. "Not an asshole. Loves me."

Ellen smiled slightly. "That's good, honey. Come on, let's get you to a bed. Dean, you should go take care of your brother."

"But… You said…" Dean sputtered. "Ellen, what does he feel?"

She shook her head. "You just take care of Sam now." She hesitated for a moment. "Take care of him, Dean, and he'll take care of you." She nodded to herself. "He'll be okay."

Dean watched them go, annoyance rising within him. He'd been honest with her, betraying Sam again, and she was going to vague out on him. Apparently Sam hadn't learned all his tricks of evasion from their father.

* * *

Sam woke Dean in the early hours of the morning with red-rimmed eyes and grey skin, and mumbled about getting out of town.

Dean knew he wanted to get away before Ellen and Jo showed up at their door again, and though Dean wanted to talk to Ellen again, to get some answers, he thought it was probably better to do as Sam wanted. It was doubtful Ellen was going to give up any more information about Sam to Dean anyway. She was too loyal to him. That didn't mean Dean wasn't desperate to know though. Sam seemed to be really struggling, and Dean was sure if he would open up he'd feel better. There was no point pushing that theory on Sam openly though. He always got annoyed when he thought Dean was being too _social worker_. Instead, Dean drove them where Sam directed after a few minutes fumbling on his phone—to a campsite a few towns over.

It wasn't yet dawn when they arrived and drove right past the check-in cabin and as far into the woods as they could get. Sam rooted through the trunk and pulled out a small dirty sack and then led Dean through the trees until they came to a small empty camp with a fire pit. He tipped up the bag and charcoal spilled out. Sam knelt and arranged it into a small pile and then fuelled it with lighter fluid and lit it up. They stood quietly as the fire built and then Sam nodded to Dean.

"Go ahead."

Dean pulled the necklace from his pocket and dropped it onto the flames. The fragile chain and pendant didn't take long to melt. They watched it go, and Dean wondered about the boy who had given it to his sweetheart before he became something they had to hunt. Had he been good? Did he deserve to end up a vengeful spirit taken out like this? They had to do take it out, the ghost was killing, but Dean wondered what awaited the child he had been before. John had said that dispatching a ghost by burning bones or whatever they were tethered to was death for ghosts, but was that the end? Did they get to go to Heaven or was what they had done as ghosts enough to land them in Hell? There was no answer to be had and Dean didn't want to think about hell.

* * *

 **So… Jo's a sneaky little hunter. This was something that was supposed to be revealed in the last story—Jo sneaked off for the first time back then—but I ran out of time. I think it fits this story better anyway.**

 **Whoa! How good was that episode?, I need people to squee with me. Drop me a message so we can party together.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you Jenjoremy for beta'ing. You're a star. Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 gave up a long evening to help me work out this chapter. Thank you ladies.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Fourteen**_

They didn't go back to The Roadhouse, though Dean hadn't really expected them to. They continued west to California, making the ride last days — a proper road trip for a change. Sam was quiet still, thoughtful, but he wasn't shut down. He would talk about inconsequential things but none of the big stuff like Ruby or the deal. Dean didn't push. As long as Sam was talking about _something_ , he wasn't too worried.

They found a small town on the coast with a reasonably priced motel, and Dean was settling in for their stay, thinking of beach nights and maybe some relaxation for a change, when the call came through in the middle of the first night.

Dean was woken by his phone ringing and he was out of bed and across the room grabbing it up before his eyes were all the way open. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, watching him carefully, alert and ready for action.

"Hello?"

" _Dean, it's me,"_ Ruby said. _"I've got something for you."_

"Demon?" Dean asked, and Sam's eyes became intense.

" _Yeah. Not a powerful one, not like Lilith or even Crowley, but something for Sam to get his teeth sunk into. Where are you?"_

"California."

" _Vacation time already? And you didn't even invite me."_

"Be serious Ruby," Dean said. "Where are _you?"_

" _Lucky for you, I'm not far. Henderson, Nevada, Thirty minutes out of Sin City."_

"Vegas? Seriously?"

" _Demons like the pretty lights and gambling,"_ she said. _"Are you coming?"_

Like they had a choice. "We can be there by lunchtime. Can you hold out till then?" He was thinking about what she had said about hating to look at a demon knowing they were the same at root. He knew she usually found them and killed them in quick succession to avoid it.

" _I'll be fine,"_ she said confidently.

"Thanks, Ruby…" He trailed off, not sure of what else to say, especially as Sam was closely listening. His feelings for Ruby were confused. He wished for the days when she had been another hunter, his trainer and lover, even though it had—at least some of it—been a lie.

" _I know, Dean. I'll see you real soon."_

Dean ended the call and set the phone down carefully on the table. It was happening at last. It was time to test Sam out. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He was desperate for Ruby's plan to work, but at the same time he didn't want Sam to have to do it, to become what Ansem and Ava had been. The disgust in his voice when he had spoken about them was unforgettable.

Dean knew if he shared his worries with Sam they would be waved away as inconsequential. Sam wouldn't want to hear it or talk about it. He probably didn't need the reminders of what was at stake. It wasn't like he could have forgotten.

"Well?" Sam said impatiently.

"She's just outside Vegas," Dean said. "And she's got a demon for us."

Sam nodded slowly. "Come on then. Let's get gone." He stood and shoved his feet into his boots at the end of the bed.

"Sure," Dean said. "Just give me a minute to change and clean up."

He went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, leaning his head against the thin wood. This was it. It was happening. This was when they'd find out if it was possible to save him.

* * *

Ruby gave them an address on the edges of town, and Sam drove them there, following the directions that Dean had looked up on his cell. Dean was talking. Babbling really. Joining the tape deck in destroying the peace and quiet. He rambled on about the things they saw as they drove — ' _Cool, a Wendy's, we won't starve at least' —_ and asked more than once if Sam was okay — _'Because it's okay not to be, you know?'_

Sam nodded in response and assured his brother he was fine, all the while fighting off the thoughts of what was to come, what he was about to do. He tried to cling to the fact this was important, it was what had to happen to save Dean, but he couldn't help but wonder what kind of brother he would be leaving for Dean if this worked. How much of himself he would have to give up in order to succeed?

The address turned out to be an abandoned Gas-N-Sip on the edge of town leading to the highway. "Huh," he said. "I thought Ruby preferred warehouses."

Dean missed the sarcasm completely. "I guess she takes what she can find."

Sam pulled the car to a spot round back and they climbed out. Ruby waited for them by the delivery entrance. She graced Sam with a nod and then beamed at Dean who returned her smile. For what felt like the hundredth time, Sam wondered what his brother could possibly see in her that allowed him to look past the fact she was a demon.

"Welcome to the party," she said brightly. "Today's special is demon served in trap with a lot of big talk. I hope you enjoy."

Sam expected Dean to laugh at her quip, but his expression was serious now and his brow furrowed. He seemed to have grasped the gravity of the moment.

Sam walked ahead of them into the building, leaving them to talk or whatever. The demon was standing at the edges of a devil's trap, unbound and straight backed. It was in the meat suit of a young man with sandy blonde hair. He had to be college age and would have been innocent looking if not for the onyx black eyes.

"Well, well, well, Sammy Winchester," the demon said. "I heard you teamed up with the traitor bitch out there, but I wasn't expecting you to make a personal visit. I thought she'd just stab and run like she normally does."

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife. "She can't do any stabbing right now."

"Which I find very annoying." Ruby's voice came from behind him. She stepped into his peripheral view and grimaced. "A demon's gotta defend herself, you know?"

Sam shrugged. "Just think, your loss defends two lives instead of one this way. It's noble what you're doing."

Dean walked into the room, looking tense as he took in the trapped demon.

"Another Winchester," the demon said. "It's my lucky day. I am going to really enjoy ripping your throats out."

Sam ignored him and asked Ruby a question that had been bugging him since Dean told him about Ruby's version of hunting. "How'd you get him in the trap without getting stuck yourself?"

She smiled beatifically. "It's amazing what an iron crowbar can do to a demon when smashed into the skull. I wait till they're good and out and then shove them in."

"So there's no chance for the host?" Sam asked mildly.

"No," she said. There was no pride in her voice now. She sounded regretful. Sam guessed it was for Dean's benefit. He highly doubted that she was feeling true regret. Packed with human memories she might be, and working for their team, she still wasn't really human and probably didn't feel the way they did about it. He glanced at Dean and her regret had worked for him. He was looking at her sympathetically.

"It's the only way though," she said, looking pointedly at Dean.

Sam nodded. Yes. This was the only way.

"Okay," he said. "How do I do this? What even is this? Am I learning to control it?"

"Nope," she said happily, her remorse gone. "You're going to exorcise it."

Sam felt a bite of anger. How was that supposed to help Dean? He could already exorcise demons, he'd done it more times that he could count, and she'd said herself that Lilith wouldn't be trapped, so how could he exorcise her? "That's a great idea and all, Ruby," he said, "but how am I supposed to make Lilith stand still long enough to let me get through the Latin?"

"No Latin needed," she said. "This is about your powers, Sam."

"His powers!" The demon snorted. "You're kidding, right? Winchester Junior is going to attempt to crack out the psychic gifts? Boy, am I glad I'm around to see this. I love to watch a hunter fail."

Sam ignored him. "How are my _powers_ going to help?" He didn't like the word. It made him sound like some superhero obsessed nerd.

"You can use your _powers_ to hold it," she said. "And _then_ you can exorcise it. It's not going to be easy, you're going to need a lot of practice, but you'll get it eventually. This is in your blood, Sam."

Sam scowled at her. He hadn't told Dean about the demon blood Yellow-Eyes had fed him as a baby. He'd hardly been able to bear the knowledge himself, and he hated that Yellow-Eyes had shown him. He could have gone through his life without knowing that was in him and been a lot happier for it. And that… that was nothing compared to the knowledge of what that blood dripped into his mouth had really cost—Mary Winchester's life.

"How do I do it?" he asked.

She laughed harshly. "You think I know? I'm the demon here, Sam. You're the special one. You have to look inside yourself and find it. It's all there, waiting for you to try. Just reach down and do what feels right."

That was the problem. None of this felt right. He was doing what he'd sworn to himself he would never do—he was letting Yellow-Eyes win. He had killed that demon, beat it down and ended it, but its legacy apparently lived on.

He took a deep breath and looked the demon in the eye—staring into the endless black—and tried to see within him, to something he could hold onto and pin in place. He imagined he could see the column of smoke that was the demon's true self. He lifted his hand—it felt so right and natural to do it.

"Sam," Dean said quietly, shifting beside him.

"Shhh," Ruby said. "Let him work."

Sam's imagined grip on the smoke tightened. He focused everything he had on holding it, and then he felt the ax cleave through his skull. It was like a vision, but impossibly worse. It was agony so intense he couldn't stand it, despite his high threshold for pain. His knees buckled. He didn't even have a chance to break his fall with his hands. They were like dead things at his side. He fell facedown on the floor; his cheek pressed against the dirty tile and his eyes squinted shut.

He could hear voices and laughter, and he sensed someone looking at him, but he couldn't respond or open his eyes. An unknown amount of time later—it could have been seconds or hours—he was able to make out the voice speaking to him.

"Open your eyes, Sammy. Say something. For God's sake, do something!" The last was directed at someone else, because the direction of the voice had changed as if he had turned away.

"What am I supposed to do?" a female voice answered, Ruby. "I'm not a doctor."

"Dean," Sam moaned.

"Sam? Oh, thank God. Are you okay? Can you open your eyes?"

Sam lifted his head from the floor and forced his eyes open. Dean's face swam in his vision, expression concerned.

"M'fine," he said, pushing himself onto his knees and then his feet. He swayed dangerously, and a strong arm braced him around the back. It was Ruby's arm, he realized, because Dean was just getting up now. He checked himself, reassured he could stand unaided, and moved out of her space. Her hand dropped back to her side. "Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome."

"Welcome?" Dean said harshly. "Did you know that was going to happen?"

Ruby looked annoyed. "How could I? It's not like I've spent a lot of time, or any at all really, training the special children to fight demons. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I had no idea it would be… _that."_

"It's fine," Sam said, massaging his temples. "I can go again."

The demon laughed. "Yeah. Sure. Have another try. I enjoyed the last one."

Sam ignored him.

"Again?" Dean sounded furious. "Sam, you just almost gave yourself an aneurism. You really think we're letting you go again?"

"Not giving you a choice," Sam said, turning his attention back to the demon and raising his hand. He felt Dean's hand on his shoulder, trying to hold him, but he refused to move. He was going at this again, and he would keep going until it worked.

He didn't even last a few seconds the next time he tried before he was on the floor again and Dean was on his knees beside him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the light. A part of him registered the fact it wasn't quite so bad this time, but the warm trickle from his nose and Dean's panicked voice made him think it looked worse.

"Dammit," Ruby said bitterly. "This isn't going to work."

"Shut up, Ruby," Sam said in a groan, trying to get to his knees only to flop down again. "It'll work just fine." Pain he could deal with. He had plenty of times before. A life without his brother… He was never doing that again.

"Work. Turn you into a vegetable. Kill you. The possibilities are endless," the trapped demon said cheerfully. "I know which one I'm hoping for." He ran a finger across his neck. "Can I come to the funeral?"

"Shut it," Dean snarled.

Sam struggled to his feet again and straightened. This time when he raised his hand it was Ruby that was pushing it down and turning him. He found he couldn't resist her strength given his tremors and general feeling of weakness.

"Hate to say it, Sam," she said, "but you really do need to stop. You need rest, Tylenol, maybe a CT scan. Whatever you think'll help."

Sam glared at her. It wasn't like Dean needed to hear that given the fact he was already freaking.

"She's right," Dean said, sounding relieved to have an ally. "Let's find a motel so you can crash. You look like you're going to pass out."

Sam would have argued, he wanted to, but he thought there was a very real risk that if he kept going he was going down and staying down.

"We'll come back," he said firmly.

"Absolutely," Dean said. "Just as soon as you're recovered."

Except he didn't mean it. Sam could hear the lie in his voice. He was going to create hell when it came time to return. Sam could deal with that. He'd come alone. Maybe it would be easier without them there, if he didn't have to worry about Dean seeing him drop like a stone. And it had been easier the second time he went down. He recovered faster and the pain was marginally less.

"Ruby," Sam said. "You'll keep it on ice for me?"

"Sure. I'll keep an eye on him. You… rest or whatever."

Dean nodded his thanks to her and he made for the exit. Sam glowered at the trapped demon a moment longer then turned and followed.

As soon as Dean was sleeping, Sam would be back. He _would_ do this no matter the cost.

* * *

Dean wasn't stupid. He didn't expect Sam to give it up after only a couple tries, but he had expected Sam to at least let him be there while he was trying, to help, to support, to flutter around uselessly when Sam crashed to the floor maybe, though that rarely happened anymore. The point was when he woke up one night, long into their stay in Nevada, he thought he'd find Sam in the bed beside his, sleeping and recovering from the evening's attempts with the demon. He didn't expect to find Sam's bed empty and a note saying, _Had to run out for something. Be back soon. No worry._

Like Dean could not worry, especially as he was certain of where Sam had gone.

The Impala wasn't there so he had to make it across town on foot. It took him thirty minutes to get from their motel to the gas station and his annoyance with Sam increased with every step he took. It was tempered with a dose of fear, too—fear for his brother and what he was doing—so that by the time he was on the road the station was located on, he was jogging.

Ruby heard him coming. She met him outside by the Impala. Dean was pissed at her for keeping it a secret from him, too, as he was sure that this wasn't Sam's first early hours trip to the demon.

They hadn't recommenced their relationship, there had been no contact since that kiss at the warehouse that Sam had interrupted, but he'd thought there was trust between them, that she'd tell him if Sam was doing this without him.

"Dean," she greeted with no sign of discomfort in the face of his anger.

"What's he doing here?"

"What do you think? He's training himself to save your ass. And I have to say he's doing well. We had something of a breakthrough tonight. Come with me, and come quietly—I don't want him distracted."

Frowning, wondering what this breakthrough entailed, Dean followed her to where she stopped at the window. She wiped an arm over the grime coating the glass, and gestured for him to come closer. He stepped up and peered inside. Sam was standing with his back to the window, but it wasn't his brother that drew Dean's eye. It was the demon. He was still in the trap, but for once he wasn't standing at the very edge, leering and taunting. He was as far away from Sam as he could get within the trap, and he seemed to be choking on the smoke that trickled out of its mouth slowly.

"I'll be damned," Dean whispered. "He's doing it."

Ruby beamed at him. "Yeah he is. He's been working his ass off, but tonight was the first time he got even close to exorcising. Incredible, isn't he?"

"That's one word for it."

Dean turned his attention back to the window and watched as Sam clenched his fist and the smoke started to creep out faster. There was something wrong though, Sam's fist was shaking hard and his other hand came up to wipe at his face. When it dropped back to his side, Dean saw his palm was smeared with blood.

"That's enough," he said harshly. "He needs to stop."

He made for the door, but Ruby caught his arm to stop him. "Dean, you have to let him try."

"I've let him try," Dean said, "and he's doing it, but look at him." He gestured back to the window. "He's going to drop any minute."

"I know you hate this, but it's the only way…" Ruby started, but Dean had already ripped his arm out of her grip and pushed open the door.

He was right, Sam was about to drop. At the same time as Dean reached him, he went down like a sack of flour. Once again, Dean dropped down beside him. "Sam?"

Sam smiled a bloody lipped smile. "Did you see?"

"Yeah, I saw," Dean said.

"I can do it, Dean. I can really do it." He looked more than happy, he looked elated, triumphant, for all of a second before his eyes fell closed as he passed out.

* * *

They kept at it for another two weeks before Sam was forced to accept Ruby's suggestion that they meet away from the demon to talk. It hadn't been weeks of progress. After Sam's success drawing the little of the demon he had, he seemed to plateau. He couldn't progress past making the demon choke on itself for a few minutes before he had to stop. The good news was that he didn't pass out anymore, in fact most times he was able to keep his feet, but it was taking its toll on him. His eyes were permanently ringed with shadows and his skin was pale. Whatever it was in him that enabled him to do this, was taking it out on his body. Dean was worried.

Ruby came by their motel that evening to talk to them. She sat beside Dean at the table while Sam stood leaning against the wall, looking as tense as Dean felt.

"I have an idea," Ruby said slowly. "And I don't think you're going to like it." She was talking to Sam more than Dean.

"I don't know," Sam said. "I liked your last idea plenty. We're making real progress with the demon now. It's not nearly as painful as it was before. I really think I'll get it soon."

"I disagree," she said dourly. "It's been two weeks and you haven't progressed at all."

Sam scowled at her. "There's no timetable for this. We have no idea how long it'll take."

"There _is_ a timetable though," she said, casting Dean a sideways glance. "We're working against a clock."

"We've got months," Dean wasn't worried about Sam failing. He had mastered so much already. He would get through the rest of it.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Months, yes. But there's also a lot of work to do before then. Sam, you're not exorcising Lilith. You're killing her."

Dean gaped at her. "He can do that?"

"With practice and a little help, yes. It's going to take more than he's giving so far though. It'd be a lot harder to exorcise Lilith compared to a foot soldier and even harder to kill her. He needs help."

"What have you got in mind?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

Ruby's mouth twisted into a grimace. "This is the part you won't like. It's a little witchy. I've made something, a… tonic I guess you'd call it. It's not exactly all natural, but it won't hurt you."

"You want me to drink a _potion_?" Sam asked. "You have to be joking."

"Sure I am," Ruby said sarcastically. "Of course it's not worth putting aside your prejudices for the sake of your brother's life."

"Don't you dare…" Sam growled.

"I dare," she said. "You're not the only one invested in saving Dean. I've been busting my butt to help you. I am helping you now. You need this, Sam, or you're never going to be strong enough to do it."

"What'll it do to him?" Dean asked.

"It'll power him up, that's all," she said. "It'll make it possible for him to tap into what's already there."

Sam turned away, shoulders set.

"You need this, Sam," she said. "Dean needs you to do this. You say you care. Prove it."

Sam spun on his heel, and for a moment Dean thought he was going to pull the knife on her. Instead, he held a hand out. "Hand it over."

"You'll do it?" Ruby asked, wide-eyed and excited.

"I'll do it."

"Sam, are you sure?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded.

Ruby reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver flask. She handed it to Sam and cautioned, "Only a little at first. You want to pace yourself. It's powerful."

"Are you _sure_ this is safe?" Dean asked.

"Totally safe," she said. "This is what he needs."

Sam flipped the cap of the flask open and sucked in a breath. "Here goes nothing." He brought it to his lips and took a sip. He paused for a moment without swallowing, perhaps reacting to the taste, and then he spat it out in a spray.

"Sam! What?" Dean asked loudly, but Sam was already in motion. He dropped the flask on the table, then pulling the knife from his pocket he moved towards Ruby with fury in his eyes. Ruby didn't even try to talk this time, to bargain or reassure. One moment she was there, the next she was gone. Sam slammed the knife into the wall, bellowing a curse.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, gripping his shoulders. "Talk to me."

In response Sam picked up the flask and tipped it up over the floor. The liquid that poured out was tinted red and thicker than water, like the chocolate milk Sam had loved as a child. There were flecks in it that Dean guessed were herbs or similar.

"What's in it?"

"Blood," Sam growled. "Demon blood. The bitch was trying to feed me demon blood again."

* * *

Sam threw the flask across the room and the drops of what remained—the damned blood—spattered against the wall. He'd known what it was as soon as it touched his tongue. Despite the herbs and other crap Ruby had used to conceal the taste, it was still there, coppery and slick. There had been no question of where the blood had come from either. It smelled like sulfur. Had it been her own blood or had she got it from their trapped pet?

It made perfect sense in a sick kind of way. Demon blood had given him the powers, more could only add to them. Sam hated it though. He had been prepared to give up himself to fuel these powers but the blood… Could he do that to himself after what it had cost to get the first dose he'd had as a baby? He had never felt so torn.

He turned and began pacing the length of their small room, his hands coming up to fist in his hair. He felt sick, repulsed, and so angry. He was filled with rage in a way he hadn't been in a long time.

Dean stepped into his path and was almost bowled over as Sam slammed into him. He hadn't even noticed him until they collided. Dean staggered back a couple steps until Sam's hands settled on his shoulders, steadying him.

"I'm sorry," Sam said stiffly.

"Sam, what's going on?" Dean asked. "What do you mean _again_?"

"You don't want to hear this." Dean didn't want to hear it and Sam didn't want to have to say it. He didn't want to admit to his brother just how different he really was, just how far from human. He didn't want to admit yet another crime against him.

"Probably not," Dean replied. "But I have a feeling I need to anyway."

Sam took two steps to the side and dropped hard onto the edge of his bed. He sagged. His shoulders slumped and his chin dropped to his chest. He clasped his hands loosely in his lap and stared at them.

Dean pulled one of the chairs around and sat opposite him. Not close enough to crowd him, but close enough that Sam knew he was there even though he was determinedly looking away, too ashamed to face him. He didn't want to do this. "Yellow-Eyes," he said eventually.

"What about him?

Sam fixed his gaze on his hands, on his scarred knuckles and crooked fingers. "When I was a baby, just six months, Yellow-Eyes came into my nursery and fed me demon blood. He dripped it out of his own damn wrist into my mouth. That's why I have these powers. He infected me with the blood and it changed me."

He glanced up quickly to see Dean's reaction, to gauge the disgust and hatred. Dean didn't look disgusted, though, and there was no hatred; he looked stunned and angry. He hadn't matched up the facts of the story, Sam could tell. He wasn't connecting the dots from six months old in nursery to dead mother.

"That's awful," Dean breathed. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

 _He_ was sorry. Wasn't that just the most tragic thing? Dean was feeling pity for Sam because he didn't yet understand what Sam had done, how he had made Dean an orphan by killing not only their father but their mother, too.

"Dean," Sam said quietly. "I was six months old. Exactly six months old."

Dean's eyes widened. "But that was when Mom…"

Sam nodded. "That was the night she died. Yellow-Eyes told me she interrupted him."

"So he killed her," Dean spat. "He dosed you with blood and killed her? I swear if that thing wasn't already dead…"

"I'm sorry," Sam said.

"Don't be. I'm glad it's dead. I wish it hadn't happened the way it did, I wish you hadn't been forced to… But never be sorry it's dead."

"No, I'm sorry about Mom. I'm sorry you lost her too because of—"

"I swear to God, Sam, if you try to apologize for 'killing' her, I'm going to lose my mind."

Sam raised his head slowly. "I know it's hard, but you have to listen to me. I _am_ sorry."

Dean's eyes glinted with anger. Sam thought he was going to throw a punch. Instead he did something far worse; he softened his voice and said, "I should have done this a long time ago. I shouldn't have let it drag on, but I didn't want to force you into a conversation you weren't ready for. We're talking about this now though. Sam, I told you I forgave you for killing Dad. I lied. I don't forgive you." Sam flinched, but Dean went on mercilessly. "There is nothing to forgive. You did nothing wrong. You couldn't have stopped Dad making that deal."

"You don't understand," Sam said through his teeth. "You weren't there."

"No, I wasn't, but I know how he felt like when he did it, as I felt the same when I made my deal. He couldn't live in a world without you, so he saved you. I did the same thing. We both made that choice alone and nothing you could have said or done, even if you were physically able, would have made a damn bit of difference." His voice rose at the end, frustrated and angry. "You didn't kill him, and you didn't kill Mom. You were six months old! What blame can a baby have for what a demon decides to do?"

Sam had no answer. He knew Dean was wrong, it _was_ his fault, but he didn't say anything.

Dean sighed. "And you don't believe me, do you? Dammit, Sam."

Sam wanted to believe, but he knew better. He had lured that demon into their home, and he had had killed their father. And if he didn't work harder, get better, he was going to fail Dean and there would be another death on his account. Another death of someone he loved.

Dean sucked in a breath, held it, and released it in a whoosh. "Fine. I know you don't want to hear it, but I am going to keep saying it every day until it gets through your thick skull. It was _not_ your fault."

Sam smiled slightly. Dean was still as stubborn as he had ever been. He probably would say it every day. He could if he liked, but Sam would never believe, because he knew the truth.

Dean glowered at him and then shook his head. "Okay. The blood. Let's talk about that. You think it'd boost you up the way Yellow-Eyes' did?"

Sam nodded. "I think it'd do exactly that. But…" His words tangled in his mind. He didn't know how to tell Dean he couldn't do it. He couldn't drink demon blood.

"You can't do it," Dean said, and it wasn't disappointment in his voice, it was understanding. "You _won't_ do it." It was a command now. "Promise me, Sam. You won't do it!"

"I won't do it," Sam said. "I will keep training with the demons. I will learn how to do it on my own. I will work harder. I can do this without that _stuff_ in me."

Dean nodded, smiling slightly. "Good. Because nothing is worth that."

Sam agreed to a point. _Almost_ nothing was worth that. Dean was the one exception. He was worth it. But Sam wasn't going to give in yet. He just had to work harder at it. That was all.

* * *

 **So… Lots happened in that chapter. Some psychic training, some demon blood, and a conversation about forgiveness that is about a year late. Hope it was entertaining to read.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx –**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for beta'ing and ass kicking respectively.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Fifteen**_

Sam tried. He worked until he had a constant headache and every muscle in his body cried out for rest. While the act of exorcising became a little easier on him physically in the moment of trying, he still couldn't get the whole demon out. It would choke on itself for minutes at a time before Sam's mind could take no more, and then he'd be subjected to the demon's laughter and taunts about impotence.

Dean was worried about him, Sam knew, and he accepted his help as much as he could, whether it was a steadying hand on his back as he attempted to work or a cool cloth for his head when they got back to the motel after a session with the demon.

They went on in that fashion for weeks—sharing meals that Sam would only pick at while thinking of the challenge that awaited him every evening while Dean pressed him to eat. Afternoons were spent resting because he didn't sleep properly at night, and evenings spent with the demon.

It was exactly three weeks after the failed blood incident, three weeks of going it alone with the demon, when Dean finally made his announcement.

"You want to what?" Sam asked.

"Take a break," Dean said. "Have you even looked in a mirror lately, Sam? You're a wreck. You need to take some time away. Just a week. Come back at it when you have a little more strength. I really think it'll help."

Sam's body begged for rest, and his mind agreed, but his heart rebelled. He needed to do this. How else was he going to be able to save Dean if he wasn't trained?

"We both need it," Dean went on. "I'm fried just watching you do this to yourself. _I_ need to get away from that damned demon."

"You go," Sam offered. "I'll stay here and keep at it."

"No. We're both doing it." He looked grim. "It's not a discussion, Sam, the decision has been made."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Is that right? And how exactly are you planning on making me do anything?"

"I plan to bring in backup if you keep arguing. I'll call Ellen and have her come get a look at you. Think what she'll say if she sees you like this. Imagine how she'll worry…"

That was a low blow and they both knew it. Ellen would panic if she saw him now. She would worry and scold and attempt to mother him, and Sam wouldn't be able to stand it. He was aware that this mission to develop his powers was going to have to stop at some point, even if only long enough for him to recover. If he didn't, he was likely to do himself serious damage. That bitch Ruby had joked that he should get himself a CT. He'd scoffed at it but he was aware this kind of constant pain and the recurrent nosebleeds were not signs of good health.

"Fine," he said bitterly. "Where are we going to take this magical, healing break?" They couldn't stay in town. Sam wouldn't be able to resist the urge to work if he was close to the demon. That meant they would have to deal with it though. They couldn't leave it trapped in there. If it got free, if someone found it… there would be murder.

Dean looked uncomfortable. "I was thinking it's time for a trip to Sonny's."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Sure. You go see him and I'll go back to The Roadhouse for a while." And by Roadhouse he meant a motel somewhere where he could lock himself away and be free to let his guard slip a little. He couldn't go to Ellen if he looked as bad as Dean was making out. It wasn't like he hadn't seen a mirror in weeks, but he didn't think it was _that_ bad.

"Actually, I was thinking we both go to Sonny's. I'd really like you to meet him, and I know he'd like to see you, too. What do you think?" He looked a little nervous.

Sam did _not_ want to go to Sonny's. He didn't want to meet the man who had replaced Sam and John as Dean's family. He didn't want to see the person in the graduation pictures who had stood where John should have stood. It wasn't Sonny's fault. He'd done a good thing taking care of Dean the way he had. But Sam couldn't help but feel a little resentment along with his gratitude toward him.

This wasn't about Sam and what he wanted though. It was about Dean. He'd slipped into life at The Roadhouse seemingly with ease. He'd accepted Jo and Ellen as family, even though there had to be a certain level of resentment toward them for their part in Sam's life, too, especially as he'd been the abandoned one.

Sam owed him this.

"Okay," he said pasting on a smile that he was sure wouldn't convince Dean.

"Really?" Dean looked excited, almost innocently so.

He smiled genuinely this time. "Really. He's in New York, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Hurleyville. Great town."

Sam chuckled. "Okay. We'll head out tomorrow." One more night with the demon. Maybe this would be the night when he broke through the barrier that was stopping him from exorcising it all the way.

* * *

It was a long drive from Nevada to Hurleyville, and they spent several days on the road, stopping each night in a motel. Sam had suggested they fly there, but Dean had been dead set against it. He didn't say it, he talked about not wanting to leave the car behind and the need to get a rental as there was no airport close to Hurleyville, but Sam suspected he was afraid to fly. He didn't mind taking the trip by road though. It gave him a little time to prepare himself for meeting Sonny. He wasn't afraid of many things in life—losing more of his family was the big one—and he didn't even admit it to himself, but he was afraid of meeting the man. Dean spoke about him sometimes, not as often as Sam would expect given the impact he'd had on his life, but sometimes. Sam never knew what to say when he did as it was all so intrinsically linked to Dean's abandonment.

Dean was obviously looking forward to the visit. The closer he got to Sonny's place, the more he leaned forward in his seat, smiling widely. In comparison, Sam fought the urge to shrink back.

They rode along an old, pitted road and Dean directed Sam to take a left onto a dirt track with a sign that read _Sonny's Home For Boys._ They approached a large grey farmhouse and Sam brought the car to a stop.

Dean was out and crossing the yard before Sam even had the key out of the ignition, not that he was rushing. The man Sam recognized as Sonny from Dean's photos came out of the house with a furrowed brow that quickly transformed to a smile as he caught sight of Dean. Sam climbed out and watched as the two men met and embraced, hands coming up to slap each other's backs.

"Dean," Sonny said happily. "Damn, it's good to see you."

"You too," Dean said, smiling widely. "C'mon. There's someone I want you to meet."

Sonny laughed as Dean hurried over to Sam's side and he followed at a more sedate pace. "You must be Sam," he said happily. "Boy, you've really… Well, it's good to meet you."

Sam knew he was going to reference the last time they'd seen each other, when Sam had been a child sitting in the Impala as John came and failed to collect Dean. Sam was glad he'd censored himself, as he wasn't sure how to respond as it was. He was relieved when Sonny held out a hand to him with a wide, friendly smile.

"I've heard a lot about you," Sonny said as they shook hands.

Sam realized it was his turn to talk. What the hell was he supposed to say? This wasn't family or a witness or even a rescued victim that he could let do the talking for him. "You too," he said awkwardly.

"Not too much of the truth, I hope," Sonny said, looking to Dean with a quirked brow.

Dean nodded happily. "Don't worry, I kept it all good. Your secrets are safe with me."

Sonny laughed again and ran a hand over the hood of the car. "So, this is the famous Impala, huh? I heard almost as much about this car as I did about you, Sam."

"You're making it sound worse than it was," Dean said. "I only mentioned her a few times."

"Maybe," Sonny said. "But you called her Baby each time."

Dean laughed freely. Sam noticed how relaxed he was here. He'd thought Dean was happy at The Roadhouse with them, but there was a peacefulness in Dean here that Sam hadn't seen in him before.

Sonny clapped Dean on the shoulder. "You boys want something to drink?"

"That'd be great," Dean said.

Sonny went back into the house and Sam thought Dean was going to follow, but he only got as far as the steps before stopping and sitting down. Sam didn't sit. He was still too uncomfortable to relax here like Dean. He leaned against the balustrade and looked out at the land surrounding the place: the fields, barn, and in the distance, a pair of grain silos. It was a nice place.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Sam forced a smile. "Yeah. Great. Just checking it all out. It looks like a good place to grow up." Though the Dean he remembered had done most of his growing up long before he turned sixteen.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, it was, is. Sonny takes good care of the kids. He makes sure they're okay. He's a great man."

"He seems it."

Dean grinned. He looked thrilled to have these two parts of his life coming together with apparent ease. He couldn't know the battle that was raging within Sam of whether to make for the car and get out of there or stay and do this for Dean.

Dean won out.

Sonny came back out with three cans of soda in his hands. He handed one to each of them and then pulled the top on his own.

Soda. Sam hadn't had soda in a long time. Even when eating in a diner or fast food place, he got coffee. He wanted whiskey, or failing that a beer, not the sugary, fizzy stuff. He felt almost like a child as he took his first sip and tried not to grimace. In contradiction to him, Dean was happily slugging back the stuff with a contented look in his eyes.

"So, how are things?" Sonny asked. "It's been so long since we talked. I must have missed a bunch. How's work treating you?"

Dean looked uncomfortable. "Life's good. Uh…"

Sam cleared his throat. "I'm going to take a look around the place if that's okay with you, Sonny."

"Sure," Sonny said, and Sam thought he heard a hint of relief in his voice. He wanted to be able to speak to Dean alone, and Dean would probably want the same so he could fill Sonny in on what had happened to him. "The kids are around doing chores, but don't let them rope you into helping. They're pretty resourceful when it comes to passing on the work."

Sam thanked him and walked away to a large red barn he could see. He thought he would wander a while, pretend vegetables and children interested him, until it was late enough that he could decently leave and go get a beer in town.

* * *

"So…" Sonny said as Sam wandered out of earshot, "how are things really?"

"They're good," Dean said. "Sam's awesome. We're doing good together. Better than good really."

"And work? How's that?"

"I'm taking some time off at the moment. Actually, I've packed up for good. I left a while ago."

"Dean," he said, sounding disappointed. "Why?"

Dean shrugged. "I've got more important things to be doing really. Hunting. Saving lives. Helping people."

"Because you helped no one when you were a social worker?"

"It's different."

"How does Sam feel about this?"

Dean laughed slightly. "At first he was beyond pissed, but I think he's accepted it now. We don't really talk about it. Just get on with it." He hesitated. "I didn't have much of a choice, Sonny. I had to come back into the life."

Sonny tilted his head to the side. "Are you in trouble?"

Only a massive amount, Dean thought. "Technically, yes. But actually, no. I got myself in a bit of trouble so there's something that's kinda hanging over us at the moment, but we're taking care of it. Sam's taking care of it. I'll be fine."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really. Just trust me when I say it was for a good reason."

Sonny sighed. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. When you found Sam again, I knew it was only a matter of time before you went back to your former way of life. I'm disappointed though. You were damn good at what you did, Dean. It's a waste."

"Trust me, it's not a waste. It's a different kind of life to the one I had before, but it's a good one. I can't explain it properly, you wouldn't understand, but it's worth it."

That was the thing. It was worth it to Dean, to Sam, and now to Jo. They saved lives by putting their own at risk. It wasn't about the buzz of the hunt, the adrenaline, it was about people. Dean had wanted to help people since he was young. He did it in a conventional way for a while, helping the kids, and now he was doing it a little differently—though they hadn't saved that many lives recently. They'd been too distracted saving Dean's. That would change though. Once Sam mastered his powers, the deal would be off and they could concentrate on other people.

"Speaking of work," Sonny said. "I wanted to tell you about a surprise I had."

"Yeah?

"Yeah. I got a call from a kid a while ago from a kid named Mitch; he told me you gave him my number and said to call. That's about all he said when it came to you. Didn't tell me you quit anyway. Just said he needed my help. He called once a week or so, vented a little about stuff. Well…" He laughed. "Remember how you used to take off on me and go looking for your father and Sam? It turns out that works in reverse, too. One morning I came out to find the kid sitting on my front porch. Little hellion tracked me down and hitchhiked all the way here. Must have taken him an age."

"Is he okay?" Dean asked. He'd thought of Mitch a few times in the months since he'd seen him last, wondered how he was doing, but there was so much else going on he'd not had a chance to check in to see if he'd ever called Sonny.

"He's just fine," Sonny said, pushing up from the step and going to the door. He opened it and called inside. "Mitch, come on out a minute. I've got someone for you to see."

"He's still here?" Dean asked, sounding as stunned as he felt.

"Yeah. The state figured it was too much money and paperwork to send him back to Nebraska foster care when there's a place here for him that works out cheaper. He's settled right in."

Dean beamed as he heard racing footsteps inside the house. A moment later the door opened all the way and Mitch came out, a rag in his hand from whatever chore Sonny had interrupted. He'd changed since Dean had last seen him from the scowling kid to a smiling one, though his smile faded as he saw Dean standing behind Sonny.

"Hey, Mitch. How're you doing?" Dean asked.

"Fine," Mitch said tonelessly. "Better than when you dumped me at least."

"Mitch," Sonny said in a warning tone.

"No, it's okay," Dean said. He deserved what Mitch dished out because he _had_ let him down. There had been no choice, but it still sucked for the kid.

"Glad you think so," Mitch said, glowering. He turned back to Sonny. "May I be excused?"

"Sure," Sonny said, clearly disappointed.

Mitch tossed the rag down onto the porch floor and brushed past Dean as he jogged toward the barn. Dean watched him go sadly.

When he was out of sight around the barn, Sonny said, "I'm sorry about that, Dean. I had no idea he'd react that way. As one of your kids I thought…"

"I let him down," Dean said. "He needed me more than any of them did, and I took off on him."

Sonny squeezed his shoulder. "Don't let it get you down. Like you say, it's worth it."

Dean nodded. It really was, but he still felt like an asshole.

* * *

The kid stormed around the side of the barn where Sam was lurking, leaning against the plank wall, and Sam's eyes followed him. He was quite the distraction, cursing up a storm the way he was.

"Asshole. Total asshole. Thinks he can come here and make it all better by just… Asshole"

Sam had a pretty good idea who the kid was talking about, and it pissed him off. He was tempted to let the kid carry on, he hadn't seemed to notice Sam, but at the same time he wanted to fix this kid's warped view of his brother, whatever the reason behind it.

"Who's the asshole?" he asked.

The kid jumped and turned. His shock was quickly replaced with suspicion. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Sonny's," he lied. "Visiting. So, who's the asshole?"

"Dean," the kid spat, confirming Sam's suspicions. "Dean freaking screw-you-over Winchester."

"That's quite the name," Sam said dryly.

"He deserves it. Asshole."

If he was a little older and maybe a foot taller, Sam would happily slug him for what he was saying. As it was, he was talking to a kid who had no idea who Dean really was, so he contented himself with fisting his hands in his jeans pockets and glowering.

"What did he do?"

The kid kicked a lump of dirt and it crumbled. "Dumped me. Dropped me like almost every other person in my life has. Told me he'd help then disappeared off the face of the planet, leaving me behind."

Sam had never given much thought about the people Dean left behind when he joined the life again. He'd thought about Dean's side of it, what he was giving up, but not what he was taking away from other people. He wouldn't have thought he'd care anyway, not about strangers, but this kid… He maybe cared. Caring didn't stop him being pissed and wanting to defend his brother though.

"Why'd he leave?" he asked.

"Family! He said his _family_ needed him." There was so much resentment in the word. Sam wondered what the kid's family had done to him.

"Maybe they did," Sam said.

"He didn't have kids. I asked him once. So his family must be grown. Why couldn't they take care of themselves instead of him? _We_ needed him more."

Probably, Sam thought. "Did you think maybe Dean needed them?" Sam asked. "That maybe he was in trouble?"

The kid narrowed his eyes. "What kind of trouble?"

"The kind he couldn't confide in a twelve year old."

"I'm fifteen," the kid said bitterly.

"Good for you."

The kid scowled. "What kind of grown up can't get his own ass out trouble anyway?"

Sam wasn't telling this kid more than he already knew about Dean. It wasn't his business, and Sam thought he'd already said too much. "Every single kind," he said instead. "Everyone needs help sometimes." Sam more than most. "And everyone has a right to family."

The kid crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah? And what do _you_ know about family? You don't exactly seem the warm fuzzies type."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest in imitation of the kid and said in a low voice, "I know plenty. _Dean_ is my family."

The kid's eyes widened and he looked pissed. "I guess that makes you an asshole, too." He spun on his heel and marched away, head held high and shoulders rigid.

Sam watched him go and then turned back to the house. He was going to see Dean, tell him where he was headed, and then he was going to get himself a beer at the nearest bar he could find.

He needed it.

* * *

Three days after their arrival, Dean was working on the truck yet again and Sonny was leaning beside him. Sam was 'checking out the town' which Dean knew translated as getting the hell away from the farm before he lost his mind.

"Almost time for you guys to take off, right?" Sonny said.

Dean nodded. They were leaving that night and heading back to the Roadhouse. Since they'd exorcised their pet demon before they left California, they needed a new one, and Sam was hoping Ash would help them find one with his tracking program.

"I'm sorry it's been such a short visit," he said. "It's been good though."

"It's not a problem," Sonny said. "I think your brother has had just about all the farm life he can stand."

Dean laughed softly. "You're not wrong."

Sam had done his best, better than his best. He'd sat down with them all, kids included, for meals. He'd seen the dorm room Dean had slept in and he'd listened as Dean explained the chores he used to do. He played the part of being interested, but he didn't fool Dean. The truth was Sam was seriously uncomfortable there, as was to be expected. He wasn't a people person anymore, and he definitely wasn't good with kids. Mitch especially seemed to sense that. Anytime he was in close proximity to Sam, he would stare daggers at him and clench his jaw. He acted like he hated Sam more than he hated Dean which was quite the feat.

"He always like this?" Sonny asked. "You know… closed off?"

"Not always," Dean said. "We've got a family in Nebraska and he lets down the walls with them sometimes. Sam had a hard time in life. It's his way of protecting himself."

Sonny nodded slowly. "Yeah, you get that impression. Makes me wonder sometimes…"

"Wonder what?" Dean asked.

"Wonder what kind of life you would have led had you not come here?"

"It would have been a helluva lot different, I promise you," Dean said. "I would've probably ended up worse than Sam. I was a hunter before I came here. I wanted to be my father from an early age. I don't think Sam ever wanted that. It just happened to him." He turned from the engine to look Sonny in the eye. "It wouldn't have been a bad life, I would have been happy, I think, but it wouldn't have been half as good as the life I have had. It was never worth the years I spent without Sam, but it was worth the work and struggle that it took. I had a chance to see what the other side of life was, and though I'm back in the hunt now, I'm pleased I got that." He smiled slightly. "Thank you, Sonny. I never would have had a chance to experience the things I did had it not been for you, and I want you to know how grateful I am."

Sonny smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "It was a pleasure, Dean. I'm grateful to know you. You were a helluva a kid and you're a helluva man now. And Sam… He may not have had the opportunities you had, but I can tell he's grateful for you too. I'm guessing he doesn't say it much, but the way he looks at you, as if he's prepared to protect you at any cost at any minute, that says more than words ever could. Remember that, okay?"

Dean nodded and turned back to the engine, blinking rapidly. Without looking, he held out a hand and said, "Hand me that metric wrench, would you?"

* * *

A few hours later, when Sam had got back from town and they'd said their goodbyes, they drove along the dirt track leading onto the road, Sonny waving in the rearview mirror.

As they passed the signpost and turned onto the road, Sam slowed and turned to Dean. "So, that's where it happened, huh?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, that's where it happened."

It wasn't the place he'd been forced to grow up too soon or to take responsibilities that were too big for his young shoulders; it was the place he'd really become a man.

* * *

 **So… Sam met Sonny. I knew they would need to meet at some point, but I didn't anticipate how hard it would be to fit Sam into that world for even a few minutes. Tough writing. The Mitch/Sam scene on the other hand was a joy to write.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this one. Also thanks to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for tear wiping, ass kicking, and being the best friends a girl could ask for.**

 _ **Chapter Sixteen**_

Ash and Dean were sitting together at the bar in The Roadhouse, both with laptops open in front of them, while Ellen flitted around preparing the place for a day's trade. Ash was working on something Dean didn't understand the first point of—in fact the only part of the explanation that he understood was that it had something to do with hunting—and Dean was searching the more unusual websites that might have something that could prelude a hunt for him and Sam.

Sam himself was out running. Apparently, it was a habit he'd let slip after John died, daily running, in favor of drinking sessions and general brooding—Ellen's words. He'd taken up with it again recently though, and Dean thought he knew why. It was Sam's distraction from their situation. A better distraction would be a demon, but they hadn't managed to track one, despite Ash's program searching around the clock. They would follow signs, but there would be nothing waiting for them at the end of it other than another town that could be populated with demons in disguise as humans. There was just no way to know without greeting every single person they met with _'Christo'_.

Without a demon to practice on, Sam ran. He ran for sanity, he ran for fitness, he ran for space. Dean didn't run. He distracted himself with searching for cases and spending time with Ellen and Ash, occasionally Jo when she was home, and Sam.

He was just getting into a story on an eclectic forum from a man who was talking about seeing a mermaid on his fishing trip—could be something, you never knew until you tried—when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and smiled as he answered. "Hey, Jo. How's it going?"

Ellen looked up from the glass she was polishing and frowned at him. Ellen and Jo's relationship had been a little strained by Jo's decision to hunt. Having booked it out of town before they could talk again, Sam and Dean had missed the fallout from Ellen's discovery, but Jo had told him about it later. Apparently, Ellen had tried to lay down the law, telling Jo if she was hunting she couldn't do it while she lived at The Roadhouse. Not cowed by her mother's anger, Jo had said that was fine, she'd live on the road instead. She'd been halfway through packing up her stuff when Ellen caved and demanded she stay and hunt from home instead. It seemed Ellen wasn't prepared to go weeks without seeing Jo the way she was forced to with Sam. Now Jo worked the bar most days, taking off occasionally when she came across a case.

" _Good. Okay. Not bad."_ Jo paused. _"It sucks. I have no idea what I'm doing with this one."_

"What's the problem?"

" _That's the thing, I have no idea. I have two bodies and one more on the way out, and no idea what's happening to these people."_

"What _do_ you have?"

" _I told you: two bodies and another on the way out. I got into town three days ago, and I'm no closer to naming a fugly than I was before. I'm here as a reporter—I can't pull off fed until I get a couple more years on me—and people aren't talking. I need help, Dean."_

"Where are you?"

" _You're not coming! You can't come. You can't tell Sam what's happening. He'll think I'm stupid. You can't tell any of them."_

Dean understood her predicament. She wanted to be taken seriously as a hunter so desperately, especially by Sam. He wished he could help her, but there wasn't much he could do from a distance.

Feeling Ellen's eyes boring into him, he said, "Hold on, Jo, you're breaking up. Let me try outside."

" _My mother's listening, isn't she?"_

"Yeah, it's probably the weather interfering."

He slipped off his stool and out through the door and kitchen to the scrubby yard where they parked. He walked around the corner of the building and leaned against the wall.

"Okay," he said. "Now we can talk."

" _You can't come!"_

Dean rolled his eyes. "What do you expect me to do, Jo? Magic you all the answers long-distance? I hate to point it out, but you've not exactly given me much to go on."

" _Ugh. This sucks. Can you get away from Sam and come on your own? Say you're visiting your girlfriend."_

"No can do. Afraid that crapped out."

" _Oh no. What happened?"_

 _She was a demon that tried to get my brother to drink blood to fuel his psychic powers._ "It just didn't work," Dean said. "And no, I can't ditch Sam. In case you didn't notice, he's not the ditchable sort. If you want help, you're getting us both."

She groaned.

"Where are you, Jo?" he asked again.

" _Harrison, Arkansas,"_ she said grudgingly. _"I'm checked into the Shamrock Inn."_

"We'll be with you by evening. Don't do anything else until we get there."

" _Don't worry. I'll be a good girl,"_ she said sarcastically.

Dean laughed. "I'll see you, Jo."

" _Bye."_

He ended the call, stowed the phone back in his pocket, and made for the door. He rounded the corner of the building and then stepped back suddenly as he almost collided with Ellen.

"Oh. Hey."

"Out with it, Winchester," she said, stony faced. "What trouble is my daughter in now?"

"None. Not really. She's just out of her depth with a case and needs a little help."

"Out of her depth how?"

Dean smiled slightly. "She's okay; she just has no idea what she's hunting."

Ellen shook her head. "Of course she doesn't. Damn fool girl doesn't have the first clue." She straightened. "You're going out there to help her, _right_?"

"Of course. Just as soon as Sam gets back we'll…" He trailed off as the sound of steady feet on the dirt reached him.

A moment later Sam was there, sweat dripping from his hair and his face flushed. "When Sam gets back we'll what?" he asked, looking from Ellen to Dean.

"Go save my daughter from her own damn stubbornness."

"Is she okay?" Sam asked intensely.

"She's fine," Dean reassured. "She's just taken a case she can't crack and she needs a little assistance."

"Okay. Good," Sam said. "Let me just clean up and we'll head out. Where is she?"

"Arkansas."

Sam nodded and walked away at a fast pace into the house.

Ellen laughed softly, and Dean looked to her frowning. "What's funny?"

"Poor girl got herself a case and Sam's about to snake it out from under her. I know he's not fighting her on the hunting thing so much now, but she'll be lucky if he lets her off the kiddy table long enough to even get a look at whatever fugly this is." She smiled, satisfied. "Poor Jo."

* * *

Jo met them at the door of her motel room, scowl in place. She wasn't happy about them being there, and Sam could relate to that. In the early days, when he'd started taking hunts apart from his father, John would sometimes show up because he was 'in the area' and he wanted to 'check in'. Sam had been so desperate to prove himself in those days, and he'd always felt like John didn't think he was up to the task. He knew better now, being on the other side of it with Jo. It wasn't about not having faith; it was about worry. When Jo was on a case, Sam worried about her. For once, he had an excuse to help her out. Besides, she wasn't going to get far as she couldn't pass for law. Sam barely passed as it was.

When they got inside the room, Sam looked around. It was a bit sad really. Jo had started a wall of information, but it was less of a wall and more a couple obituaries cut from the newspaper and a few post-it notes. All the information she had was that the two deceased were men in their late twenties, and that they had died from 'natural causes.' She had also discovered a third possible victim who was in the hospital on life support; just a week ago he had been a marathon runner.

Dean walked over to the wall and pulled down one of the obituaries to read. "What's the deal with the 'natural causes'?" he asked.

Jo shrugged. "No idea. I tried going by the hospital but I got blocked by security. I had Ash talk me through getting into the PD files, but there's nothing there because the deaths were classified as 'natural'."

"What makes you think it's a case at all?" Sam asked.

"These men were fit and healthy up till a week before their deaths. Ash has a program set up searching for buzz words in news reports. This was tagged because of the reporter's comment about the deaths being a mystery. I thought I'd check it out, and here I am. One suspicious thing I found was that the week before the first victim died, he went through some kind of personality change. He dumped his girlfriend, failed to show up for work, and spent all his time hanging in this bar. Girlfriend said it was like he was looking for something. She's convinced it was another woman. I tried going to the family of the other victims, but it's too soon for them to talk to the press, and I had no other good cover."

Sam smiled slightly. No good cover wasn't a first for him or his father. One time, when dealing with one of the psychics, he and John had gone in as priests with outfits they'd gotten from a costume store.

Dean looked at him. "Feds do you think?"

Sam considered. "It's shaky, but I think it's our best bet. We're not going to get anywhere as reporters if Jo can't, and we're not nearly bulked up enough on medical knowledge to go in as CDC; Dad and I did that once, and I played trainee. We winged it on the stuff he'd picked up over the years and general intimidation. If we avoid the actual cops and go straight to the bodies, we might get something."

Dean looked wistful for a moment. Sam puzzled over it and realized it was the mention of their father. Sam didn't talk about him much, but whenever he did, Dean seemed to appreciate it. Perhaps it gave him a chance to put together some of the puzzle pieces he had about their life together after he was gone.

Feeling uncomfortable and awkward, he checked his watch and said, "It's too late to do anything now. I vote we get ourselves something to eat and a few drinks.

Jo nodded eagerly, but Dean looked unsure.

"Problem?" Sam asked.

"No," Dean said quickly. "A beer sounds good."

Beer, whiskey, it all sounded good to Sam.

* * *

Dean was at the bar getting their drinks and Jo was trying to talk to Sam about the program Ash had come up with to help them track down cases, but Sam's attention wasn't on her; he was thinking. He did that often these days, got lost in his own thoughts. He had plenty to think about, so people usually left him to it when it happened.

When Dean set the beers down in front of them, Sam took his absentmindedly and took a deep draw on it.

Jo turned her attention from Sam to Dean and said, "So what happened with the girlfriend? It seemed like you really liked her."

Sam's eyes drifted to Dean and a frown creased his brow.

"It just didn't work out," Dean said. "There were too many differences between us. We weren't compatible."

"That's a real shame. You seemed happy with her."

"It happens," Dean said. "How about you? How's your love life?"

Jo snorted. "Love life? Me? It's hard to come by someone worth putting time into when the only people I really meet are hunters looking for a free drink from the owner's daughter. And that's the ones who aren't scared off by Mom and Sam."

Sam scowled at her. "I've never scared anyone off."

"Not intentionally maybe, but when you've got Sam Winchester scowling in the corner, it tends to put them off." She sighed dramatically. "I have accepted the fact I'll die alone."

"Never going to happen," Dean laughed. "You'll find someone."

"Here's hoping," Jo said, clinking her bottle against Dean's.

As the evening wore on, Sam switched from beer to shots and got steadily more inebriated. He never used to drink on a job, but sometimes he just plain needed a release. He never got falling down drunk though, and no one mentioned it, so he figured they understood.

They had been in the bar a couple of hours and Sam was at the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice him so he could get them all another drink, when he noticed the woman perched on a stool beside him. She was stunning, with dark-hair, full lips, and high cheekbones. Her attention was fixed on something across the room, and when Sam followed her gaze, he saw it was Dean. He smiled slightly.

Dean seemed oblivious to the woman's gaze. He was chatting with Jo about something. Sam checked the woman over again. She seemed normal enough, maybe a good opportunity for Dean to put Ruby behind him. He decided to give Dean a little helping hand. He whistled at Dean, drawing his eye, and gestured him over. Looking a little confused, Dean stood and made his way across the bar, the woman's sideways glance fixed on him.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

"Bartender's busy and I need to hit the head," Sam said. "See if you can have any luck. Mine's a beer."

"Okay," Dean said, no sign of suspicion in him.

As Sam pushed away from the bar, he brushed the woman, spilling her drink over the bar counter. "I'm sorry," he said gruffly, walking away. He didn't see it happen, but he heard Dean's quick apologies and he could imagine him grabbing at napkins to help her clean up.

Smiling to himself, he went into the bathroom, thinking that if Dean played his cards right, he would be well on the way to a good night.

When he got back, Dean was seated on a stool beside the woman and chatting animatedly. The beers Sam had asked him to get were nowhere in sight. He sidled up to Dean and cleared his throat. "Dean, Jo and I are going to head out."

"Oh. Okay." Dean said, making to stand.

"No," Sam said quickly. "You stay and finish your drink. We'll see you later." He half turned so he could get a good look at the woman and muttered, "Christo," just loud enough that she'd hear. There was no reaction, though she looked a little confused. He clapped Dean on the back and walked back to their table.

"What's that about?" Jo asked when he got to her.

"That's about us leaving now and letting Dean have his night."

Jo tilted her head to the side to see past him. "Hmmm… She's pretty. Might be good to get the ex out of his system."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Sam said approvingly. "Let's just hope he figures out the same thing." He looked back to Dean and saw he was nodding along to whatever the woman was saying, looking happy.

* * *

Sam lay awake for a couple hours after they got back to the motel, just thinking things over: the deal, Ruby, his powers, his inability to find another demon, the epic failure it had been to let the last one go. When he finally fell asleep, it was into fitful rest that he woke from frequently. It was during one of those awakenings around dawn that he saw Dean creeping back into the room. He feigned sleep until Dean was in his own bed, settling down to catch a couple more hours rest, then he rolled over and leaned up on an elbow and said, "Have fun?"

Predictably, Dean started and sat up quickly.

Sam laughed.

"You asshole," Dean said, though there was no heat in it.

"Did you have fun?" Sam asked again.

"Yes, thank you. Her name's Tanya. She's new to town. Has no family. And that's all you're getting. This isn't college."

"I didn't want details. Gross man. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. We had a good night. It was fun. Now I need some sleep. Goodnight, Sam."

Sam chuckled as he settled himself on the pillow again. "Night, Dean."

Within less than a minute, Dean was snoring and Sam was lying in the dark, thinking.

* * *

Sam was up, showered, and dressed long before Jo came banging on their motel room door. Impressively, Dean slept through her knocking, and didn't wake until Sam slapped his back. Even then, he didn't jerk upright, he rolled over and mumbled into the pillow sleepily.

"Rise and shine," Sam said as he opened the door for Jo.

"I already did," Jo said, coming inside loaded with take-out coffee and a paper bag that had a donut emblazoned on the side.

"I was talking to him," Sam said, thumbing at Dean over his shoulder.

"Aw, bless him," Jo said. "She wore him out."

"Must have," Sam agreed. He went back to Dean and ripped the pillow out from under his head. "Come on, Dean! Wake your ass up."

Dean groaned and struggled around to sit on the edge of the bed. "You're a dick."

"Probably," Sam said, unconcerned. "You've had at least four hours sleep. That's plenty." It was more than Sam had gotten in the end.

Dean didn't speak. He just gave Sam an incredulous look and staggered into the bathroom. Sam took one of the coffees and pulled off the lid so he could drink it faster—he needed the kick of caffeine to the bloodstream.

Jo perched on a chair at the table and took a donut from the bag.

"Clothes, Sam!" a voice shouted from the bathroom, muffled by the sound of the shower running.

"Feeling shy, Dean?" Jo called back.

Sam laughed and took Dean's fed suit and duffel into the bathroom. He hung up the suit on the back of the door and dumped the duffel on the counter, and then he slapped the shower screen and said, "Hurry it up. Daylight's wasting."

Five minutes later, when Jo and Sam's coffees and all but one of the donuts were gone, Dean came out of the bathroom, adjusting his tie. He made straight for his coffee and drank it down in a hurry.

"Sleepy still, Dean?" Jo asked, a laugh in her voice.

Dean scowled. "Maybe you two can go on four hours sleep a night, but I need at least six. It's called being human."

"Anyway…" Sam said, knowing Jo could get in on this for ages without break and wanting to get the day started.

"What's the plan today?" Jo asked.

"I figure we'll go by the morgue and see if we can get something from the ME." Sam said, and Dean nodded his agreement.

"And what am I supposed to do while you're off playing feds?" Jo asked truculently.

"Go by this bar when it opens," Sam suggested. "See if they noticed anything weird about the man that night. See if the other victims were there."

It was a relatively safe thing for her to do, though it wasn't like he and Dean were going to be running the gauntlet of danger talking to the ME.

"That I can do." Jo's mouth set into a firm line and she lowered her voice in a poor imitation of Ellen. "You boys take care out there. Come back to me in one piece."

"Don't worry, Jo. I'll make sure he looks both ways before crossing the street and stays away from strange men," Dean said, sounding brighter than he had all morning.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."

Jo and Dean looked at each other and burst out laughing in unison. Sam lasted all of a few seconds before a smile broke over his own face and he chuckled. It actually felt good to push aside the worry and tension that hounded him and just enjoy himself for a while.

* * *

The ME was a heavy-set man in his forties with a wide smile and bright demeanor. Dean was expecting something a little different from his first encounter with someone who cut up bodies for a living—a more somber attitude maybe. The man introduced himself as Greg Harris and swept them into his office to talk.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked when he'd glanced over their fake badges.

"We're here about the Patterson and Ryland deaths," Sam said smoothly.

"Oh yes. Those poor men. I didn't know them well, but we had a nodding acquaintance. They were so young. Tragic."

Sam nodded soberly. "I was wondering what you could tell me about them."

"I can't tell you a lot," he said. "I just finished zipping Rich Patterson up and I'm afraid I'm at a loss for an actual cause of death for either of them." He leaned back in his chair and laid his hands over his stomach. "In the treatment notes, it said they were both admitted three days before their death after collapsing with suspected exhaustion. They quickly declined to the point of requiring life support and then they died with no explanation. It was like their bodies, their life-forces, just failed them. No sign of disease, no viruses showing up on blood work. I hate to say it, but I am clueless." He shook his head. "I hate cases like this. The families need answers, and I have none to give."

Dean could imagine. He would need answers, too. It was so much harder for people to move on if they didn't know what had happened. People by nature needed an explanation. Unanswered questions were the worst thing in these situations.

"Is it possible for exhaustion to kill like this?" Sam asked. "Medically speaking."

"Well, yes. In the right circumstances. We sometimes see it in the elderly or very sick. But it makes no sense in this situation. These men were healthy, vital…"

And now they're dead, Dean thought. What could have done this to them?

"Was there anything unusual about the bodies at all?" Sam asked.

The man frowned. "Not that I can think of." He paused, and then his eyes widened slightly. "Well, maybe. There was something strange. They both seemed to have been involved in some kind of… altercation… before their deaths."

Sam leaned forward slightly. "There were injuries?"

"There were healing scratches on their backs and chests."

"Gore marks?" Sam asked.

"No, nothing like that. More the sort of wounds left after a particularly passionate encounter. I'd guess they were at most a week old."

Dean had had more than his fair share of claw marks left by lovers. His most recent being a prime example. The man was saying the men had sex sometime before their deaths. One of them at least had a girlfriend, but it _could_ be linked somehow. It was the only clue they had.

"Thank you for your help," Sam said, getting to his feet. "We really appreciate it."

Greg stood too and they shook hands. "You're very welcome. If you have any other questions, feel free to come back."

"We will," Dean said stifling yawn.

He led them out to the exit, and they walked through the hospital the morgue was attached to in silence. It wasn't until they were back at the car that Dean spoke, explaining his theory behind the scratches. "So, we've got some passionate sex and not a lot else."

"There's always something else, and we'll find it," Sam said confidently. "Maybe Jo came up with something."

"You think?" Dean had assumed that Jo's mission to question the bartender was a task to distract her and keep her out of trouble.

Sam shrugged. "No idea. Here's hoping though."

* * *

Jo got to The Brew and Cue around eleven. She walked in with confidence. She might be relatively new to hunting, only having taken a handful of cases, but she knew bars. She knew she had to move like she didn't give a crap to stop herself from being pestered by early drinkers and general letches.

She took a seat at the bar and waited for the bartender to finish with a lumberjack looking guy before coming to her.

"What can I get you?" he asked when he got to her.

"Just a coke, please," she said.

He nodded and filled a glass for her then set it down. She handed across a bill as he asked, "Anything else?"

"Actually, I was hoping for some information," she said. "I'm a reporter with the Weekly World News, and I'm following the story of the two deaths in town. Do you have a moment to answer some questions?"

"Sure, I guess. But I don't know what I can tell you. Other than having served them a few times and calling the ambulance when Matt collapsed, I didn't really know them. They weren't regulars. In fact, I don't think I saw Matt in here more than three times until just before he died."

"Really?" Jo said, pulling her notebook from her pocket and flipping it open. "Yet I heard that before he died, Matt Patterson spent a lot of time in here."

"He did, but like I said, it wasn't until just before he died. He came in about two weeks ago with a group of buddies." His mouth pressed into a thin line. "What sort of article are you writing? I don't want to badmouth the guy, with him being dead and all, you know."

"It's about the mysterious nature of the deaths," Jo said. "Not about them personally. I'm just checking to make sure there's nothing that'll make the newspaper look stupid. For example, you say he collapsed. Was he drinking heavily that day?"

"No. Absolutely not. He stuck to soda every time he was here after the first night."

"Did you notice anything unusual about him?" Jo asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, he was tired. I don't mean a little yawning, I mean dog tired like he hadn't slept for days. He would sit over there in the corner, looking like he was on the verge of dozing off the whole time. In fact, I think it was only the possibility of seeing her again that kept him awake."

"Her?"

"You sure this won't make it into your article?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Jo said, leaning forward slightly,

"Well, the night he was here with his buddies, he hooked up with this woman. Stunner, you know. She had these cheekbones… Well, I assume they hooked up. They left together anyway."

Something about it tugged at Jo's mind. She felt a little sick and couldn't work out why for a moment. The facts wouldn't stop swimming in her mind. "Oh crap," she whispered as things fell into place.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Dark-haired woman?" she asked, hoping the answer was no.

"Yeah, the hair, the cheekbones, the lips." He looked off wistfully. "Hot as hell."

"One last question. Have you seen her since that night?"

"No, more's the pity."

Jo forced a smile. "Okay. Thank you for everything." She stowed her notebook back in her pocket and slid off her stool. "You've helped a lot."

He started to speak, but Jo was already halfway out of the door. As soon as she got outside she pulled out her phone and dialed Sam's number. He answered on the first ring.

"Sam, Dean's in trouble."

* * *

Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed and Sam was standing opposite him with his arms crossed over his chest. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I don't know. Okay. Little tired, but I barely slept, so that's normal. Honestly, Sam, I have no idea why Jo thinks I'm in trouble."

"Well she wouldn't sound like that over nothing."

"Maybe it's a case thing," Dean said. "Or maybe it was a _'Dean's screwed up and I'm going to kick his ass'_ kinda trouble thing."

"Have you screwed up?"

"Hell if I know. I don't think so. I can't think of anything anyway."

There was a knock on the door then, or more like a fist on the door, and Sam crossed the room to open it. Jo burst in and came straight to Dean. "How do you _feel_?" she asked.

Dean smiled slightly. "Fine. Okay, I think. Depends on if you're planning to kick my ass, I guess."

"He said he's tired," Sam said to Jo. "What's going on?"

"The first victim, he hooked up with a woman at the bar a week before he died. She was a stunner apparently. He came back for the three days following, and he was _tired._ Sound familiar?"

Dean laughed. If this was what they were worrying about, it was nothing. Lack of sleep made you tired, and a bar hookup wasn't exactly rare.

"Something funny?" Sam said in a low voice.

"Well, yeah, you two are freaking because of Tanya and a little tiredness. Tanya _is_ the reason behind the tiredness."

"I bet she is," Jo said.

Sam was silent for a moment, and then his expression hardened. "Dean, did she use you as a scratch post last night?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Little personal, don't you think?"

"Answer the damn question!" he snapped

"Yes," Dean said, rolling his shoulders and feeling the shallow cuts pulling. "But you can't think that means…"

"I think that's exactly what it means," Sam said. "You were batting way out of your league last night, and now this!"

"I don't know," Jo said thoughtfully. "The right clothes and he might be able to…"

"Focus, Jo!"

"Sorry," she said. "What are you thinking?"

Sam stood with his back to them for a moment, his stance set with tension, and then he slumped and bowed his head. "Dammit, Dean."

"What?" Dean asked. "What did I do?"

"You _did_ a succubus," Sam said, turning to face him. "Shit."

"You mind filling me in?" Dean asked. He'd heard of succubi, but only in the legend from. He'd never come across one before."

"They seduce you," Jo started.

"Funnily enough, I figured out that part," Dean said a little bitterly. He didn't mean to be a jerk, but he was overwhelmed and more than a little worried. Those people had died within a week!

"They lure men with their 'charms'," she went on. "Creating a kind of obsession. It's kinda impossible to refuse them once they've set their sights on you. And then they seduce you."

"The seduction forms a bond," Sam said, his voice tight with anger. "The succubus uses it to drain your life force. Shit!" he bellowed, striking out and punching the wall.

"Sam!" Dean said, standing and catching Sam's hand before he could punch it again and drive a hole right through. There was already a dent in the plasterboard and Sam's knuckles were red.

Sam yanked his hand out of Dean's grip. He took a couple deep breaths, and when he spoke it was in a calm and measured tone. "Okay. We've got to track this bitch down and end her."

"How do we do that?" Dean asked.

"First off, _we're_ doing nothing. You're staying here and sleeping. Second, we have to catch her in the act of seduction and put a silver knife in her heart. Should be…" He trailed off, smiling inexplicably. "No. We don't. We just have to find the bitch and lure her somewhere quiet."

"And then what?" Jo asked.

"Then I blow her brains out with the colt," Sam said grimly.

* * *

They were silent as they drove along Main Street, searching for a likely looking bar. The succubus had struck at two separate ones that they knew of, and Sam was willing to bet the second victim had been picked up at one, too. Where better for her to work than a place full of inebriated men?

They'd left Dean at the motel, dosed on one of the strongest painkillers in Sam's kit—guaranteed to knock someone out for a few hours at least. He'd been snoring when they left him.

Sam had tried to persuade Jo to stay and keep an eye on him, but she'd refused and Dean had backed her up. They pointed out that the other victims had all lasted a week, a few days before they'd even needed hospital care, before they'd died. Sam needed her more. He conceded the point eventually. He couldn't be seduced and take the shot at the same time. He wasn't prepared to bet Dean's life on the fact he could resist her lure.

"Sam," Jo said tentatively.

"Yes, Jo."

"How are you planning on luring her out?"

"I'm planning on being a man who pretends to be interested."

"That's not going to work," she said bluntly. "You're not a man right now."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I'm not? Must have missed the change with all the stress of knowing my brother's set to die in a week."

"You're not a man," she said again. "You're a hunter. You _scream_ trouble. She's not going to take the bait."

"You may not have noticed, Jo, but I'm a hunter all the time. I can't just switch it off."

"You do though. Last night you weren't being a hunter. You were being a brother. You need to tap into that again."

"Sure, that'll be easy. I just have to ignore the fact Dean has a ticking clock over his head and crack a few jokes with you."

"No," she said patiently. "You have to get drunk. Face it, you're a coiled spring. You need to chill. You need a drink. And believe me, we're going to have a conversation about that soon. In the meantime, we have to find the right bar and get you drinking."

She was probably right on both counts. Sam did need a drink and he did need to chill. The promised conversation wasn't going to happen in this lifetime though.

He didn't like the idea of drinking when so much was at stake though. The succubus was dangerous as all hell, and Dean's life was in the balance. He needed a clear head. He shared his concern with Jo.

"That won't be a problem. I'll be the one taking the shot. You'll be the one falling over trying to get your pants off under her lure. You just have to get her out of the bar, and I'll do the rest."

Sam frowned at the road. He couldn't deny it made sense, but putting the gun in the hand of Jo against the succubus didn't sit well with him. Creatures like that were damned dangerous. If it knew what they were doing before she got a shot off, Jo could be seriously hurt.

"I can do this, Sam," she said softly. "Just give me a chance to prove myself. I won't screw it up."

It came down to risking Jo or losing Dean. He couldn't take the shot _and_ be seduced, but choosing between them was impossible. He couldn't risk either of them. They were his family.

"I don't know," he said slowly.

"I do," Jo said confidently. "This isn't about me wanting a thrill or the glory of the kill. This is about saving a life—Dean's life. He needs us to do this for him. You have to see it's the only way."

Sam's hands tightened around the steering wheel. He did see, and that was the problem. He couldn't bear it, but he had to let her do it. It was the only way to save Dean.

"Okay," he said softly. "But if it looks even a little like she's scouted you, you book it out of there and go back to Dean."

"But if she scouts me, she's sure as hell scouted you," Jo said.

"Not a problem," Sam said.

"Really? Are you suddenly immortal?"

Sam didn't answer directly. "If she scouts me, call Tamara and Isaac. They've taken on a succubus before. Call everyone in my phone and get them on the case."

"You mean if she kills you?"

Sam nodded. "Yes, Jo, if she kills me."

"You can't expect me to leave you to die!"

"I can," he said doggedly, pulling the car to a stop at the side of the road. "Come on. Let's try this one."

* * *

Jo tried to talk about the fact that Sam was apparently ready and willing to die for the hunt—for his brother—but Sam shot her down each time, saying they couldn't discuss anything with people around them. Jo was pissed and worried, but there was nothing she could do about it then. When this was over, when she'd taken down the succubus with the colt hidden in her jacket, when she'd saved Dean _and_ Sam, she was going to sort Sam's damn self destructive attitude out. There was one person who could always get through to him, John, but he was dead, so she was going to the next best person—her mom.

The succubus wasn't in the bar, but it was early still, so Sam set to starting the drinking part of the plan. Slowly and steadily he worked his way through the shots Jo bought him until he was loaded and starting to relax. His need for alcohol to wind down was another thing she was going to discuss with her mother.

After an hour of drinking—and more than a little panicking that she was never going to come on Jo's part—the succubus walked into the bar.

Sam gave an instant sigh of relief and his tense stance softened. "She's here," he said quietly.

"Yep. Give her a while and then you can have a go."

"Why do we need to wait?"

"Because, Romeo, women don't like being set upon the minute they walk into a place. I'd have thought you'd learned that by now."

Sam shrugged. "I'm not big on the romance thing."

"I know," she said a little sadly. To her knowledge, Sam had never been with a woman for more than a night, and that was a real waste. He had so much more to offer the world than hunting.

They waited for the succubus to move onto her second drink before Sam pushed up from the table and muttered, "Wish me luck."

"Always do," Jo whispered as he ambled across the room to the succubus.

She tried not to stare as Sam slid into the seat beside succubus, but she couldn't help but glance over. She'd worried Sam would still be too stiff, but he greeted her with words Jo couldn't hear and the succubus laughed softly and patted his hand. They fell into conversation and Jo stared down at her glass, determinedly not watching them until she heard Sam's voice carrying over to her. "No, that's just Jo."

Jo was pleased. If the succubus was asking about her, she had to be interested. A few minutes of conversation later, Sam was leaning forward in his seat and smiling, growing more relaxed with her. The lure was working on him.

Jo thought the time was right to make her 'exit' so they could make their own. She walked to them and said, "I've got a headache, so I'm heading back. Will you be okay?"

"Oh, he'll be fine," the succubus said sweetly, resting a hand on Sam's arm.

Sam handed her the Impala keys. "You take the car. I'll make my own way."

Jo beamed at him, said, "Thanks," and left the bar. She walked along the street, past a couple stores, and then ducked into an alley that smelled of urine and garbage. She wrinkled her nose as she settled in for the wait.

It didn't take long before she heard the noise of music and voices rising and falling as the bar door opened and closed. She knew it was Sam at once, as he was talking. "It's a short walk. You don't mind?"

"Not at all," the succubus purred.

Their voices trailed off, but Jo waited another few minutes before slipping from her hiding place. She got in the Impala, and started the engine. It was the first time she'd ever been behind the wheel of it, and she wished she could enjoy the moment more. As it was, she had to get back to the motel before Sam and the succubus and get into the room without them seeing her.

She took off in the opposite direction to the one Sam had taken, and drove at a slightly reckless pace through the streets. She thought she had time, as the drive was only five minutes and even Sam's long legs wouldn't make it before her.

The curtains were still open—the prearranged signal they'd agreed upon as a sign of Sam getting to the room was missing—so she ducked inside in a hurry and made straight for the bathroom. She would have liked to check on Dean, but she couldn't risk it. The plan depended on her making the shot. She reassured herself he'd be okay. He was sleeping and he had plenty of time yet.

After what seemed like forever, she heard the keycard being inserted and then the door opened.

Jo held her breath, not wanting to make even a sound that soft, and waited for the door to close behind them.

There was laughter and muffled moans as the door clicked closed, and Jo grimaced. That was a monster Sam was making out with. He was going to be so pissed when the lure wore off.

She didn't attempt to conceal her exit of the bathroom. She was sure the succubus was distracted. She yanked open the door and raced out.

They broke apart at her arrival. Sam looked confused, still under the spell of the monster, but he quickly recovered himself. The sight of the colt coming up and Jo clicking off the safety seemed to jar something in his mind. He leaped to the side, out of her way.

The succubus took in the scene in a moment, laughed, and started in a scathing tone, "Hunters. You can't kill me with a—"

She was cut off as Jo pulled the trigger. Her head rocked back as the bullet pierced her temple and a spray of blood shot out behind her, spattering the wall. Light crackled around the wound as she dropped to the floor.

Jo's hands shook as she lowered the gun, the adrenaline coursing through her. Sam took one look at the dead succubus and then yanked open the door and pelted out of the room. Jo raced after him, into the room they'd left Dean.

Sam was leaning over the bed, shaking Dean by the shoulders and saying his name in a loud and worried voice.

Dean groaned and cracked his eyes open. "What's going on?" he asked drowsily.

Sam stepped back, his shoulders heaving and his breath coming fast. "You're okay."

"M'fine," Dean said. "What happened?"

"Jo killed the succubus."

"You did?" Dean blinked at her blearily. "Awesome."

Jo laughed a little shakily. "I was actually."

"Yes," Sam said, turning to her with unmistakable pride in his eyes. "You were." He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. She rested her head on his chest and smiled as he pressed a kiss to her hair and whispered for only her to hear. "Thank you, Jo."

* * *

 **So… The colt works anyway. I was trolling the net, looking for a fugly for this chapter, when I found succubi. I knew at once one of the boys needed to be the victim, and Dean won the coin toss. Hope it was a fun read.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic, and Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all the help and support.**

 **When Jenjoremy first got this chapter she thought I had sent her the wrong file. It's the right one. Honest.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Seventeen**_

Ralph stood in the living room of his childhood home. His mother and father were on the couch facing him, their expressions tense and expectant.

"Ralph, honey, what did you need to talk to us about?" his mother asked.

"Mom, Dad, I've been fighting this a long time, and I can't do it anymore. I need to be honest with you and with myself."

His father stiffened. "Are you in trouble, son?"

Ralph shook his head. "No, I'm not in trouble. I'm…" He seemed to brace himself. "I'm going to become a woman."

His mother gasped and his father's face reddened.

"How long have you known?" his mother asked, her voice weak.

"A long time. I thought I would be okay, but I'm sick of living a lie. This is the last time you'll see me as Ralph. From today onwards, I'm going to be living as my true self. I will be Ruth."

His mother nodded shakily. "Okay… _Ruth_ … I guess this means—"

She cut off as his father pitched forward off the couch in a dead faint.

* * *

"You bastard!" Beth screeched, throwing a plate from the dish rack at his head.

Ralph ducked and it smashed against the wall above his head. "Beth, honey, please listen to me. It didn't mean anything."

"You tell me you've been sleeping with her for three years and it's supposed to mean nothing! You bastard! What about the children?"

"What about them?" Ralph asked. "It's not like I'm asking you to meet them. Though you'd love them. The twins are a real cute age right now."

"We don't have twins." Her eyes widened. "You had children with that bitch!" She flung another plate at him. He didn't dodge in time, and it hit him on the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Only two," he wheezed.

She laughed shrilly as she picked up a knife from the block and came at him with it raised dangerously. "Make the most of them," she hissed. "When I'm done, you won't be able to pee without a tube let alone father more children."

Ralph spun on his heel and ran for the door.

* * *

The bank manager smiled at him across the desk. "Your loan has been approved, Mr. Keller. The funds are being transferred to your account now. I want to thank you for banking with us."

Ralph smiled. "Thank you for all your help."

"I wish you all the luck with your business venture. What did you say it was?"

"I'm undecided at the moment," Ralph said. "I'm torn between starting an emu farm and storm chasing freelance."

The bank manager blinked slowly. "Oh. I see."

"Don't worry," Ralph said, chuckling. "I'm just kidding."

Both men stood and they shook hands.

"What _are_ you going to do with the money?" the bank manager asked curiously.

"I'm going to plow it into ridding the world of supernatural threats: demons, werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters. You know, the usual." He winked and strode out of the office, a spring in his step. "You have a nice day now," he called over his shoulder.

"Uh, yes, you too."

* * *

Sam and Dean were sitting in the bar, early afternoon, talking to Ellen when a man stomped through the door and slammed himself onto a stool beside Dean.

"What can I get you Ralph?" Ellen asked.

The man, Ralph, slumped over the bar and said, "A whiskey and a new life if you're offering?"

Ellen cast Sam an amused glance before turning her attention back to Ralph. "Something wrong?"

"Yeah, something's wrong," Ralph said bitterly. "The wife's kicked me out, the bank's saying I've missed a payment on a big-ass loan, and my mother insists on calling me Ruth now and keeps offering to take me dress shopping."

Sam snorted into his beer. Dean resisted the urge to do the same.

Ralph heaved a breath. "I was on a business trip, and when I got home, Beth went crazy. She tossed all my clothes out of the window at me and screamed something about twins. I'll be honest, I've not been exactly faithful, but I've never lucked out with twins."

"Your loss," Sam murmured.

"So, I go up to my parents' place, and my mom starts in on how she's proud of me for finally being honest with myself while my dad glowers at me from the corner. I finally get it out of them what happened, and they seemed to think I came by and announced I was going for gender reassignment."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "And the loan?"

"Bank's got my signature on the papers and some crazy story about an emu farm. They swear I came in and made the application. They even had a cashier to back it up. I'm supposed to have cleared the savings, too. I'm getting a lawyer on it."

"And it definitely wasn't you?" Ellen asked, exchanging a glance with Sam. "Not a joke or something?"

"It sure as hell wasn't me," Ralph said bitterly. "I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd say I've been cloned."

Dean forced a laugh. "Like that would happen."

Sam sat looking thoughtful for a moment, and then he stood and made his way out of the room, bumping Dean's shoulder on his way past. Dean excused himself and followed him into the kitchen.

"Shapeshifter, you think?" Dean asked when Sam had closed the door behind them.

"I think so. Either that or Ralph out there has an evil but awesome twin." Dean looked at him blankly until he went on. "Ralph is an asshole. He's some kind of architect I think, big money job, but if he can scam a free drink off some poor sap, he will. You heard him say he's not exactly faithful; well, that's a major understatement. He doesn't mess with Ellen or Jo, but any other woman I've ever seen him with is treated like dirt." Sam scowled. "If it wasn't a shapeshifter, I'd buy whoever was screwing him over a drink."

"But it is a shapeshifter."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "it's a shapeshifter, which means we've got to track the son of a bitch down and kill it."

"Silver through the heart, right?"

"Not bad, Dean."

Dean smiled a little. "I remember Dad taking out that one in Georgia when we were kids."

"Yeah," Sam said. "It had taken up with the family after killing the husband, right? It was terrorizing them."

"You remember that hunt?" Dean asked in surprise. Sam had to have been about nine when it happened, and John and Dean had both tried to shield him from the facts of cases as much as they could back then. They had wanted to let him have a little more childhood.

"No. Dad told me about it afterwards. We used to go through his old cases in the journal when I was in school as part of my training." Sam shook his head as if shaking off the memory. "Problem is, the one that's targeting Ralph isn't staying in one place…"

"…and we need to track it down somehow," Dean finished for him. "Any ideas?"

Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line. "We need to go back to where the shifter's been and try to follow its tracks. We can't really do his parents' place or his house—I think his wife would take a swing at us—but we can go by the bank." He nodded to himself. "Yeah, suit up."

"Feds?"

"No. A place like a bank has got to be more careful about security than a morgue or even a PD. Our badges won't stand up. We'll go in as Ralph's lawyers."

* * *

They grilled Ralph a little more discreetly, and then Sam pulled Ellen away to give her clear instructions before they left. She was to keep Ralph in the bar and busy by any means necessary. Sam also had a quiet word with Kubrick and got his word that if Ralph looked like he was going to make trouble, he'd knock his ass out. Sam couldn't risk him coming along with his real lawyer and blowing their cover.

Before they entered the bank, Sam checked his reflection in a store front and tugged his collar up a little higher to try to conceal his scar. It was no longer the mottled mess it had been, it was silver now, but people still seemed to notice it. When he was satisfied it was as good as it was going to get, he pushed open the glass door of the bank and went in.

He'd never had much money in his life apart from poker and pool winnings, so he hadn't spent much time hanging inside a bank, but even he could tell this place was fancier than most. The carpet was thick and there were tasteful paintings on the walls. Ralph was even more loaded than he'd thought. There were tellers working behind polished wood counters with a queue of impatient people waiting their turn. Sam disregarded them and walked straight to a woman working at a desk the other side of the room, Dean only a half step behind him.

"Hello," she greeted them with a professional smile. "May I help you?"

Dean stepped forward, every inch the professional, and said, "We're from Parsons and Green Law Firm. We need to speak to someone about fraudulent activity on our client's account."

Sam was impressed.

"Of course, sir," she said. "If you'd just give me a moment." She picked up her phone, dialed in a number and then whispered into the receiver before setting the phone down and looking up at them. "If you'd follow me, gentlemen."

They walked across the vast room and through a discreet door that she had to enter a code into. From there they went along a hall to a dark wood door marked as manager's office. She knocked once and then eased open the door. The manager was on his feet behind his desk, ready to greet them.

Sam knew people, he could read them pretty well, and he was surprised by this man. He would have expected him to look worried at their appearance, or at least a little concerned. He wasn't. He smiled widely and shook their hands.

"Gentlemen, Frank McCall. Take a seat. I understand you're here about possible fraud on an account. May I ask who your client is?"

"Mr. Ralph Keller," Sam said, sitting with Dean beside him.

"Of course," McCall said. "I suspected as much."

"You do know there's been fraud then?" Dean asked.

"No. I know he's trying to accuse us of fraud. There's a difference."

"Our client swears he hasn't been in the bank for weeks," Sam said. "And yet you seem to be under the impression he took out a loan with you."

McCall smiled slightly, a secret, satisfied smile. "It's more than an impression. It's a fact. When Mr. Keller called to raise a dispute, I took the liberty of preparing some evidence." He flipped open the laptop on his desk and turned it so they could see the screen. "I have a copy of our security footage here, footage from this office in fact, and as you'll see, it clearly shows Mr. Keller freely signing the loan documents."

Sam narrowed his eyes and watched as McCall pressed play. Ralph was sitting at the desk they were at now. Though there was no sound, they could see him talking, gesturing wildly and looked pleased. McCall slid over a sheaf of paper and Ralph picked up a pen and signed each page with flourish, then pushed them back across the desk.

"That could have been weeks ago," Dean pointed out.

"There is a timestamp, Mr…"

"Parsons," Dean said. "Mr. Parsons, and timestamps can be altered easily."

McCall reddened slightly. "Are you accusing me of tampering with evidence?"

Dean started to speak, but Sam wasn't paying attention. His eyes were on the screen. Ralph was talking animatedly to McCall on the video, but he paused for a moment to look up directly into the camera. There was something very wrong with the image.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. McCall," he said loudly, cutting across Dean. "I think we've seen all we need to see here. There's no question that's our client. I believe this must have been some kind of prank on his part."

"I don't find it funny," McCall replied dryly. "And I would like you to inform your Mr. Keller that we will be consulting our own legal department to see if proceedings can be brought against _him_ for this."

"Absolutely," Sam said, nodding and getting to his feet. "You can be assured that Parsons and Green won't be representing him if that happens."

Looking confused but quickly hiding it, Dean stood too.

"That's all?" McCall asked.

"Yes. We have no reason to bother you further. Thank you for your assistance." Sam turned and pulled open the door. He felt Dean following behind him.

They waited until they were out of the bank and back at the car before speaking. "What was that?" Dean asked. "We didn't get a thing out of that visit that'll help us track the shifter."

"We got enough," Sam said. "Were you watching that video?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Then you saw the eyes. There was no eye-flare. On camera a shapeshifter's eyes are silver. Whatever that was in there, it was no shapeshifter."

Dean frowned. "Then what the hell was it? What else can change its face to look like someone else?"

Sam smiled grimly. "There's nothing I can think of that can change its face to look like whoever it wants, but there's something that can _take_ a face. A demon."

"Oh," Dean said slowly, then he grinned. "That's got to be the dumbest demon in the world, coming into a bar full of hunters."

"Or the cockiest. Whatever. That demon has just signed its own death warrant. There's no way I'm letting this one go."

* * *

Sam was as tense as a coiled spring on the ride back to The Roadhouse. Dean wasn't feeling much better. This could be it for them. If they could trap Ralph, Sam would finally have something to practice on. It could be the end of the deal. Dean felt a flutter in his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was fear of what Sam was about to do to himself again or hope that it would work this time.

Sam slammed the Impala to a stop at the back of The Roadhouse and got out. Dean had barely gotten his door open before Sam was inside. Dean hurried after him through the kitchen and hall and into the bar. Sam was standing by the door, having a whispered conversation with Ellen. Whatever she was saying wasn't pleasing him. His brow was furrowed and low over his eyes.

Dean stepped up to them in time to hear Ellen say, "He can't be. Did you forget that we laid the traps by the doors? He couldn't have even gotten inside."

"Maybe they're broken," Sam suggested.

"I checked them just this morning. Check him if you like, but he's not a demon."

Dean felt his heart sink. Not a demon. Not a thing for Sam to work on. Not his safety from Hell.

Ralph had clearly been using their time away from the bar to drink. He was slumped over, his head resting on his arms. Sam walked to his side and pulled a hip flask from his pocket that Dean knew held holy water. Making no attempt to hide what he was doing, Sam tilted the flask and dripped several drops down on the back of Ralph's neck. There was no skin reaction. He wasn't a demon.

Ralph raised his head and blinked blearily. "Wet."

"Must be a leak in the roof," Sam said dully, turning to Dean with disappointment clear in his eyes.

"What do we do now?" Dean asked when Sam was back at his side.

"Work out what else can copy a person's face, I guess."

"Any ideas?"

"Nope. I can't think of anything that can. We're going to need to do some research on this one."

"Not necessarily," Dean said with a small smile. "I've got a lore expert on speed-dial."

"You have?"

"Bobby." Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit the speed-dial assigned to Bobby. The man answered with a gruff, _"Dean? You okay?"_

"Yeah, I'm fine. Me and Sam have stumbled on a case that's giving us a little trouble, and we thought maybe you could help us out."

" _Want me to come by?"_

"No, I don't think we're at that point yet. We're looking for something that can steal another person's appearance. It's not a demon or a shapeshifter."

Bobby was silent for a moment then he said, _"You sure it's taking the face and not just imitating it?"_

"I… don't know." Dean lowered his voice and told Bobby everything they knew about the case, leaving nothing out.

" _So, this guy's a dick, and someone's systematically ruining his life? Boy, I thought your brother was smarter than that."_

"What do you mean?"

" _It's a Trickster,"_ Bobby said. _"Demigod. Sam tangled with one about a year back,"_

Dean remembered Sam mentioning going after one what felt like a lifetime ago, when they were just testing the waters of being brothers again.

"Trickster," he said, watching the realization dawn in Sam's eyes. "I thought Sam took it out."

" _He took one out. There's a handful of them though, in all kinds of cultures. Sounds like there's another in business now."_

"Great. A god. Just what we need."

" _Yeah, they're not your run- of-the-mill hunts, that's for sure. Should be an interesting challenge for you boys. Want me to come by and give you a hand?"_

Dean took in Sam's scowl. "Nah. We'll handle it."

" _He's never going to ease up on me, is he?"_ Bobby asked.

"Maybe one day," Dean said, not sure what other answer to give when he was pretty sure Bobby was right. "We'll come by soon, okay?"

" _Sure you will,"_ Bobby said.

"Thanks, Bobby. I'll let you know how it goes."

" _You do that, and be careful."_

"Always am," Dean said. They exchanged goodbyes and Dean set the phone down on the bar.

"Trickster," Sam said, sounding annoyed.

Dean nodded. "That's what he thinks anyway."

"Awesome. That's just awesome. We've got a demigod and no way to track it, because those sons of bitches leave no signs. How the hell are we supposed to find it?"

"I might be able to help with that," Ellen said, sidling over to them and pointing over her shoulder to Ralph who was slurring loudly into his cell phone.

"What meeting? Site meeting? I didn't call one, did I? Well, I don't care that you can't make it. I can't either." He snorted. "Yeah, should be interesting." He snapped his phone closed and tapped his glass on the bar for another drink.

Ellen gritted her teeth as she went to him and picked up the bottle. Dean thought she was maybe tempted to slam it into Ralph's skull, but she smiled sweetly at him and said, "So, what was that about?"

* * *

The site Ralph had indirectly pointed them to was on the other side of town. Sam drove fast, but the parking lot was still mostly full when they parked up and climbed out.

"You sure about this?" Dean asked.

"If we can pass for feds, we can sure as hell pass for day laborers. We just need… these." He picked two hard hats off a rack and tossed one to Dean.

Sam put his own on and they followed the rumble of voices across the site to where a crowd of people had gathered. They were all facing away from them except the Trickster who was standing on a pile of bricks so he could be seen. He was talking to the crowd with relish.

Sam and Dean slipped among the men at the back of the crowd.

"It's a completely new vision," the Trickster was saying in Ralph's voice. "A better vision. There are thousands of malls in the country, but none of them have the unique quality ours will." He unrolled the scrolled paper he was holding, revealing a large picture. " _This_ is my vision!"

"But that's…" a man beside Sam said in a hushed voice.

"Sleeping Beauty's Castle," Dean said.

Sam turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

"He's lost his damn mind," another man said, making no attempt to conceal his words.

The theme of incredulity and madness spread through the crowd of men. Ralph was rolling up the paper he'd shown them and saying something about the new supplies and plans that would be available within a few days and how in the meantime they should start taking down the work they'd already done, while the muttering became more and more voluble.

"Thank you for your time and the support I _know_ you will all offer," Ralph finished, climbing down from his plinth of bricks and walking away.

Sam made to follow but Dean caught his arm. "A lot of witnesses, Sam."

"It's our only chance."

Besides, people were already making their way back to their cars. Sam strode through them towards the half-built wall and scaffolding the Trickster had disappeared around. There was no one there when he got there though. He cursed.

"Language," a voice scolded.

The Trickster stepped out through a space in the wall that would have become a door one day.

"Really, Winchester, you need to control your temper."

What drew Sam's attention was that the voice wasn't Ralph's and it hadn't come from the same direction. It was familiar and impossible though—he'd already killed _him_ once. He spun on his heel, his eyes roving for a sign of the creature, almost knocking into Dean.

"Sam?" he said, worried. "What's wrong?"

Sam didn't answer him. He raised his voice and said. "Come on out then. Or are you scared?"

"Scared?" the voice replied. "What have I got to be scared of? You think those stakes tucked up the sleeves of your bargain basement jackets are going to do it?"

"Then why aren't you out here facing me?" Sam asked. "What kind of god are you?"

There was a laugh and then the Trickster, the same Trickster Sam had staked in Ohio that had masqueraded as a janitor, stepped into view just as Ralph disappeared. "I am a powerful god," he said. "And a god that's not easy to kill. As you should know."

"I killed you," Sam said.

"You tried and failed." He grinned. "It's been a while since Springfield. How've you been?"

Dean looked confused. "That's the Trickster you took out before?"

"No, I'm the Trickster he poked with stick and tried to kill. Lucky for me—and unlucky for him—he can't tell an illusion from the real deal."

Sam shook the stake into his hand and stepped forward. "I won't make the same mistake again."

"Oh really?" the Trickster laughed. "How about now?" He clicked his fingers and two more identical Tricksters appeared, exactly the same down to the smug expressions. "Which one of us is real?"

"Is it me?" the one of the right asked.

"Or me?" the third asked.

They started walking, weaving in between each other in a bizarre kind of dance. It was like watching a carnie performing the shell game. Sam tried to keep his eyes on the one that had been talking first, but they moved too fast, racing around. He was soon lost.

"Poor Sammy Winchester," one said. "So confused."

"I'm not," Dean growled, lurching forward and shoving the stake through the Trickster on the right.

Sam followed his lead and aimed for the one in the middle. He knew at once they'd both failed, as the Tricksters didn't even try to escape; they stood with their arms at their sides until the moment the stake pierced them and then they groaned in unison and fell to the ground, large bloody stains blossoming on their shirts. Sam yanked his stake out of the illusion he'd killed and turned looking for the one remaining Trickster. It was nowhere in sight but Sam though he could hear it laughing.

He raced toward the sound, Dean on his heels, realizing it was leading them back to the parking lot. He ran faster, seeing the Trickster as it swung itself into a sleek blue convertible. Sam knew it was too late, it was gone, but that didn't stop him trying. He got to the car just as it peeled out of its stop and skidded toward the road. The Trickster turned back just before he made the road and saluted them.

"Better luck next time, guys," he shouted, pulling onto the road and roaring away from them.

Sam cursed loudly.

"What do we do?" Dean asked.

"Nothing we can do," Sam said. "You can't track a Trickster." He sighed. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam turned to him, a small smile curving his lips. "Sleeping Beauty's castle? Seriously?"

Dean shrugged. "I worked with kids. You wouldn't believe the crap I know."

Sam laughed softly and made his way back to the Impala. All in all it hadn't been the best day. No demon and an escaped monster. It wasn't definitely wasn't making it into his top ten.

* * *

 **So… This chapter was a LOT of fun to write. Credit must go to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all the help with the idea. I knew I wanted The Trickster to make an appearance, but I couldn't work out how. They were awesome.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	18. Chapter 18

**Jenjoremy kicked ass—as she always does—with this chapter, and Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 made it happen with their outlining help. Thank you ladies and also thank you to all of you that are still reading. I appreciate you supporting the story more than I can say.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eighteen**_

Dean walked into the kitchen to find Sam and Ellen midway through an argument. He had no idea what it was about, but Sam seemed pretty annoyed as he said, "No. Not happening. No way."

"This isn't a discussion, Sam," Ellen growled.

"I know, because I've already given you my answer. No. I'm not doing it." Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

"What aren't you doing?" Dean asked curiously.

"Christmas," Sam spat.

"It's different this year," Ellen said. "Dean's here, too. We should make something of it. We can celebrate."

"Dean can be here all he likes. I hope you have a good time. _I_ will not be here. I'm going to find myself some fugly and I'm going to kill it. That's how Icelebrate."

Dean was a little stunned. He usually spent Christmas at Sonny's. He not planned that this year because of Sam. He'd assumed they'd spend it at The Roadhouse. He'd seen the big-ass ham in the fridge and the other fixings appearing in the cupboards, and why else would they need so much if it wasn't for all of them? Apparently, he and Sam weren't on the same page.

"Wouldn't you like a proper Christmas?" Ellen asked Dean.

The honest answer was yes. He wanted to celebrate something normal with Sam. The closest they'd ever gotten to a regular holiday growing up was the one Christmas John left them at Bobby's over the holiday while he took on some hunt. Bobby had made it special for them. He'd cooked a chicken—that was all the store had left after the mob had been through—and let them power around the junkyard in the snow. Sam had been about ten, and he'd gotten a real kick out of it.

Dean hadn't thought it would be a problem this year. Sure, they'd missed Thanksgiving, but that was because they'd been chasing down a possible demon in Florida that turned out to be nothing. He hadn't considered that Sam had specifically decided to chase that particular demon so he could avoid the holiday.

"I don't mind hunting instead," he lied.

It wasn't like he really had a choice anyway. With only two days to go, it was too late for him to make the trip north to see Sonny unless he caught a flight, and that wasn't going to happen. Besides, he couldn't just duck out on Sam because he wanted to celebrate.

"See," Sam said triumphantly. "Dean doesn't care either."

Ellen glared at Dean. "Dean's saying what you want to hear, aren't you?"

"No," Dean said a little too quickly to be really believable. It didn't really matter as long as he and Sam were together, though. After all, the holiday wasn't about the food or drink. It was about the people. Next year, when they didn't have the drama and the deal hanging over them, he'd make sure they celebrated properly.

"Please, Sam," Ellen said.

"No," Sam said firmly. "Not happening." He picked up his mug from the counter and strode out of the room without another word.

Ellen turned on Dean and he took a step back, expecting a barrage of anger, but her expression softened and she said, "I know you're lying."

Dean shrugged. "It doesn't matter. We've got bigger worries than a holiday."

"He hasn't had Christmas for years," she said sadly. "He and your daddy would take off and not come back till after New Year's. They said they were hunting, but I always suspected they just holed up in a motel somewhere. Makes me sad, you know?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Me too. But what can we do? We can't force him to stay and we sure as hell can't force him to enjoy himself."

"I just don't like the idea of the pair of you getting loaded in some skeevy motel on Christmas day."

"We'll be fine, Ellen," he said, forcing confidence into his voice. "Don't worry."

* * *

Sam was reading the Key of Solomon for what felt like the hundredth time while Dean and Jo chatted when the call came in on Dean's cell. He didn't pay much attention until Dean jumped up asking, "Is he okay? What happened to him?"

Sam looked up and saw the color had drained from Dean's face. Within seconds he was beside him, wondering what had happened to whom to make Dean look like that.

"We're leaving right now," Dean said. "If he wakes up, tell him I'm coming." He lowered the phone to his side, looking stunned.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Bobby. He's in the hospital."

Sam gripped his shoulder hard. "Is he okay?"

"He's unconscious. They wouldn't tell me anything else." He seemed stunned into inertia. Sam shook him lightly.

"Come on. We need to leave."

"Yeah," Dean said slowly. "Yeah!" He raced for the back.

Sam followed, grabbing their jackets from their room on the way past and his keys from the counter. Ellen was in the kitchen, and as they passed through she said, "What's going on?"

"Bobby Singer is in trouble," Sam said.

"What happened to him?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I know," Sam said, following Dean out of the door to the yard.

Dean was standing by the Impala, his feet tapping against the hard-packed dirt ground. When Sam got out, he held out his hand expectantly, and Sam tossed him the car keys. He would be better off driving than sitting and thinking while Sam drove.

When they were both in, Dean gunned the engine and reversed out of their spot between Ellen and Jo's cars.

"He'll be okay," Sam said futilely.

"Course he will," Dean said, nodding shakily. "Bobby's tough. We should be more worried about whatever got him, because it's in for a world of hurt when we find it."

Sam agreed even though he didn't have the same relationship with Bobby that Dean did; there were too many years between them for that. Seeing the disappointment in Bobby's eyes when he looked at Sam and saw that he wasn't the boy he knew was a barrier between them, but Sam still remembered when Bobby had been one of the few staples in his life, when trips to "Uncle Bobby's" were something to be relished. He was worried about him, too.

* * *

It was a three hour drive from The Roadhouse to Sioux Falls. They made it in two.

Sam hadn't spoken much on the ride. He hadn't tried to reassure Dean at all, which Dean was grateful for. He didn't need empty words of comfort. He needed Bobby's voice announcing that he was fine and was getting out of the damned hospital before he caught something.

That was what he was hoping for, but when he pulled into a spot in the Sioux Falls General parking lot, he was still worried. He figured if Bobby was awake already, he would have called.

They entered the hospital at a fast pace, and Sam went straight to the desk and tapped his hand impatiently on the counter to get the attention of the receptionist who was happily chatting to a man in scrubs. Dean would usually have been embarrassed by Sam's impatience and lack of manners—Sonny had been big on manners—but in that instance he was glad of it because it got the woman's attention.

She turned to them, irritation clear on her face, and said, "May I help you?"

"Bobby Singer," Dean said quickly. "I got a call saying he'd been brought in."

"Singer… Singer…" she said thoughtfully, tapping on her keyboard. "Oh yes. He's in the neurology ward. Third floor. Elevators are just through those doors."

"Thanks," Dean said distractedly, making for the door with Sam beside him.

Neurology sounded bad. Neurology meant head injuries. Bleeds. Clots. Bobby wasn't getting any younger. Had something natural happened to him? Sam once said all hunters went down in flames. Was that how it was going to end for Bobby or had human weakness gotten him?

He was unaware that they had even entered the elevator, let alone left it and walked to the nurses' station on the third floor. Sam had hand on his elbow, and Dean realized he'd been leading him while he was lost in his worried and tangled thoughts.

"Bobby Singer," Dean blurted to a young woman in scrubs. "He's my uncle."

"Of course," she said gently. "He's in room three-one-nine, just down the hall on your left."

Sam took Dean's elbow again, but Dean didn't need guidance this time. He strode along the hall to the room she'd directed them to and pushed open the glass door.

He had been imagining all kinds of horrors, a ventilator for one, but Bobby looked much as he always did except for the fact he wasn't wearing his baseball cap and his skin was pale apart from the purple bruise blossoming on his temple. His eyes were closed, but his breaths were steady and the heartbeats recorded on the monitor beside the bed were regular and even.

"Bobby?" Dean said softly, stepping closer to the bed and looking down at his friend.

Bobby's brow creased and his eyes cracked open. He looked up at Dean and said, "About damn time you showed up. Let's get out of here."

From behind him there was a laugh. Dean turned and saw Sam standing by the door with a wide smile on his face. Dean frowned at him and Sam shrugged.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked Bobby solicitously.

"Like I've been whopped around the head with a two-by-four," Bobby said grumpily. "How do I look?"

"Like you've been whopped around the head with a two-by-four," Dean said, smiling slightly.

"Good. I wouldn't want all this pain without something to show for it."

"What happened?" Sam asked, stepping closer to the bed.

Bobby's eyebrows rose in surprise but he quickly resettled his features into a scowl. "Honestly, I'm not sure. It's a little muddled."

"What do you _think_ happened?" Sam pressed.

Bobby looked embarrassed. "I was heading into the store to pick up a few things… Well, as I went down—I was confused, you know—it looked like I'd been bitch-slapped by Satan."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Satan?"

"There were definitely horns."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Bobby did say he was confused and it was highly doubtful that if Satan was real, he'd be passing his time bitch-slapping people, but it didn't sound like anything human. What the hell kind of creature had _horns_ though?

"Never mind that," Bobby said. "You boys are here now, so let's get me out of here before I catch something."

Dean shook his head, fighting a smile. "What have the doctors said?"

"They know nothing," Bobby said. "Damn kid didn't look old enough to tie his own shoelaces let alone diagnose me."

"Bobby…" Dean started, unsure of what to say.

"He said I have a concussion. That's all. They put me in one of them scanner things and it came up clear. I'm good to go," he said defiantly.

"I don't know, Bobby. You shouldn't mess with concussions," Dean said.

"And you shouldn't mess with werewolf gores or gunshot wounds," he said, looking pointedly at Sam. "But we do. So get me out of here."

Dean understood Bobby wanting to get out, but he was worried. Head injuries could be dangerous. He decided to compromise. If he could get some reassurance from someone who actually knew what he or she was talking about, he'd get Bobby out. "I'll go check see what the nurses say."

"You go do that," Bobby said, nodding.

Dean left the room and went back to the nurses' station. There was no one there at first, and he had to wait a few minutes before someone arrived. When he came, a man dressed in pale blue scrubs with short blonde hair, Dean knew at once it was Bobby's doctor; he didn't look old enough to shave yet.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm Bobby Singer's nephew. He's ready to leave, and I wanted to be sure it was okay to take him."

"Hmm… Medically, he seems stable, but head injuries are tricky. I'd prefer to keep him overnight at least so we can keep an eye on him. He'll need regular checks if he sleeps, every two hours at least, to make sure he _is_ just sleeping and not suffering complications. But…" He shook his head. "I think we might have trouble keeping him here." His eyes fixed on something over Dean's shoulder, and Dean spun around to see Bobby walking up the hall away from them, leaning heavily on Sam.

"Bobby!" Dean gasped while internally wondering why he was even surprised.

Bobby and Sam turned awkwardly and Bobby said, "There you are. Come on, Dean. We're out of here."

"Mr. Singer," the doctor said. "I really must advise against this. You should stay at least a night."

Bobby shook his head. "No can do. Things to be getting on with."

"In that case there are forms you must fill out."

"Dean will sort that out," Bobby said cheerfully. "Me and Sam will be at the car."

Dean turned back to the doctor, an apology on his lips, only to see that the young man was already picking up a clipboard and walking toward Bobby. Apparently he'd been expecting this outcome a while.

* * *

Sam drove them back to Bobby's. Dean took the back seat while Bobby reclined against the door in the front, looking tired and pale but satisfied at his escape. Sam had expected Dean to give Bobby hell about checking out early, but he'd restrained himself, possibly because he knew it would do no good anyway. Bobby had always been stubborn as a mule and independent to boot.

"Ah, home sweet home," Bobby said as they pulled up in front of his house.

"Yeah, home," Dean said. "Where you're going to rest and recover."

"Sure," Bobby said blithely.

Dean hovered as Bobby got out of the car and started toward the house, only wobbling a little on his feet. When they got inside, he collapsed on the couch and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he said, "It's good to see you boys again. It's been a while. What have you been up to?"

Sam wasn't interested in sharing stories of hunts so he cleared his throat and said, "How about I go into town and pick up the things Satan interrupted."

Bobby's lips quirked into a smile. "It wasn't Satan. I know that. I'm just saying what I _thought_ I saw. I'll do some research while you're out."

" _I_ will do some research," Dean corrected. "You'll rest."

"Yeah, because reading sure takes it out of a man," Bobby said sarcastically.

Sam cleared his throat, interrupting whatever response Dean was brewing, and asked, "What do you need?"

Bobby rooted in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled shopping list. "All of that and something halfway decent to drink."

"Drink!"

"Yes, Dean, drink," Bobby said patiently. "What kind of host would I be if I didn't offer you boys a drink?"

Sam chuckled as he turned away from Dean's remonstrations and made for the door. He took a deep breath of cool, clean air when he got outside. It wasn't that he couldn't breathe in Bobby's house, but it wasn't easy. It was the scent of books and Old Spice in the air that triggered the memories and made it hard for him, not that he would ever tell anyone. What kind of hunter got spooked by stupid childhood memories?

As he drove through town, he noticed something strange outside many of the houses. There were shoes and boots outside the doors. Not unusual in winter when there was mud and snow to contend with, but there was only ever one of them. It quirked his interest and he made a mental note to ask Bobby about it.

When he got to the small store, he parked out front and went in. It wasn't busy. There were a few people browsing the aisles and a group of four talking by the register. Sam didn't pay them much attention as he pulled out the list and headed up the first aisle, but when he heard Bobby's name mentioned, he stopped to listen.

"Right outside," the clerk said. "Out cold. Scared the bejeezus out of me. He just wouldn't wake up. He'd taken a heck of a knock."

A matronly looking woman with grey hair pulled back in a bun said, "Bobby Singer? More likely he was drunk and passed out, hitting his head on the way down."

"Well, how do you explain the others?" the clerk asked. "I know Fred Baum and he's no drinker. He was hurt just like Bobby. A knock to the head. They found him out in his yard. Mary said he was just taking out the trash and didn't come back in. And the others in the newspaper."

"Some loon attacking people. Sheriff Mills will catch them," a third voice said confidently.

Sam moved off along the aisle, still listening carefully, but the women's conversation had turned to the weather and approaching Christmas.

Sam picked the items on the list off the shelves automatically, not really paying attention to what he was doing. He was surprised when he got to the last aisle where the liquor was presented. He put a couple of six-packs in the cart and then grabbed a bottle of the whiskey he'd noticed Bobby drinking before, and then went to the register. There was a stack of newspapers on the counter and he grabbed one and placed it on top his shopping.

While the sales girl rang up his items, he mulled over what he'd heard. Bobby's attack wasn't the first in town, but what could be out there that looked like the devil knocking people out? It didn't make sense.

* * *

Dean had persuaded Bobby to relax while he tidied around the house a little. He was just putting away the clean dishes when he heard the Impala pull up outside. A moment later Sam came in with a sack of groceries in each arm. Dean took one and set it on the counter. He started to unload the groceries, not paying much attention to Sam until he heard his voice.

"Bobby, why didn't you tell us yours wasn't the first attack?"

"It wasn't?" Bobby asked. "Huh."

"I was listening to some women gossiping at the store, and they seemed to think there'd been others. Fred something and others they didn't name. This Fred guy got knocked out in his own yard." Sam came back into the kitchen and pulled a newspaper from the sack. "They're saying the cops are clueless."

Dean set down the loaf of bread he'd picked up and went into the library.

"I didn't know," Bobby said. "I don't really keep up with the local stuff. Too busy chasing down the real nasties all over the country."

"Looks like there's a real nasty right here," Sam said. "Do you have any local legends that fit?"

"You mean do we have our own Sioux Falls Devil? No, Sam, that would be Jersey."

Sam shook his head. "Well, there's something going on here. You were taken out by Satan apparently and who knows what these other people saw."

"What are you thinking?" Dean asked, looking at Sam.

"I'm not sure yet. I want to interview these other victims."

"See if they saw Satan, too?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's not Satan. That was a hallucination from Mr. Concussion over there."

Bobby grumbled incoherently but they both ignored him.

"I'll see if I can poke around a little. You stay here and keep an eye on him."

"I don't need a damn babysitter," Bobby mumbled, sounding like a fractious child.

"Tough," Dean said. "You're getting one."

Sam smiled slightly. "I'll be back soon. See if you can find anything in his books that might match up to the attacks."

"Satan?"

"Not Satan," Sam said again. "It's just another fugly." He grinned. "I told Ellen I'd find something to kill."

* * *

The house of Fred and Mary Baum was a nice looking blue two story. Sam strode confidently up the path and to the door. Only a moment after he knocked, a woman answered. She was probably in her late fifties with graying brown hair and a round, pretty face. Her eyes had creases around them that made Sam think she was given to smiling. She didn't look happy now though, she looked tense.

"Good afternoon," Sam said, holding out his badge. "I'm Agent Page with the FBI. I am investigating the attack of Fred Baum."

"That's my husband," she said. "I'm Mary, Mary Baum." She looked a little confused. "You don't look like a FBI Agent."

Sam smiled and plucked at the front of his plaid shirt. "Sorry about the clothes. I was in the area for the holidays when the attacks came up on the radar. My field office asked me to check in on it and I don't travel with my suits."

"Oh," she smiled and nodded, reassured. "Would you like to come in?"

She stepped back to let Sam enter and then led him into the living room. He perched on the edge of the plush green couch she gestured him to.

"Is your husband home?" Sam asked.

"He's sleeping," she said regretfully. "He's so tired all the time since the attack. I don't like to wake him unless I have to. You can talk to me though. He told me everything, though it doesn't make a lot of sense. He was concussed, you understand, and he's been under a lot of strain ever since the accident."

Sam tried to look compassionate. He really wasn't good at it. "What did he see?"

She grimaced. "He says it was a monster."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, trying to frame his question in a way that wouldn't make him sound like he was auditioning for X-Files. "What exactly did he say the attacker look like?"

She sighed. "According to him it had horns and was big and black." She looked embarrassed.

"I see."

"He really isn't well," she said. "Like I said, he's been under a lot of strain."

"What kind of strain?" Sam asked.

"There was an accident about a month ago. Fred was driving home, and he skidded on some ice. He hit another car. No one was seriously hurt, just cuts and bruises, but there was a child in the car, and he can't seem to rid himself of the thought of what _could_ have happened. He feels horrible about it all. It's all too much for him."

"Okay," Sam said, standing. "I think I've heard enough to be able to wrap up my investigation. It's obviously not a monster." He smiled reassuring. "And I don't think it's a federal case. I will report to my field office that the local PD can be trusted to take care of it. Thank you for your time."

She looked relieved as she walked him to the door. As Sam turned to walk back along the path he noticed there was a single boot on the stoop.

"The boot…" he started.

She smiled. "It's my granddaughter. She still believes in Krampus, so we put a boot out for her."

"Krampus?" Sam asked blankly.

She nodded. "It's just a legend, but the children here are pretty invested. Some of the adults, too. It's an interesting story, but I don't suppose it would interest a FBI agent."

"No," Sam said. "Probably not. Well, thanks again."

He walked along the path toward the Impala, hearing the door close behind him. He was thinking about Krampus, whatever that was, and wondering how Dean was getting on with his own research. Despite his thoughts, he was aware of his surroundings, just as John had taught him to be, so he felt the approach behind him. Reaching for the knife in his inside pocket, he turned just in time to see the blur coming at him. He felt a sharp pain as it made contact with the side of his head, and then he dropped to the ground.

His last confused thought as the darkness descended was, ' _Horns'._

* * *

 **So… Bobby got taken out by Satan. Good times. I have been trying so hard to get Bobby and Sam to something resembling the closeness they had before, but I can't seem to persuade Sam to loosen up with him. As I** _ **hope**_ **I showed in this chapter, he does still care though.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the awesome beta job and to my sisters in all but blood Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for everything you do.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nineteen**_

Sam had been gone too long for him to be merely 'poking around'. Dean tried his cell a couple times but there was no answer until the third attempt when a voice that wasn't Sam's answered.

" _Hello?"_

"Who's this?" Dean asked.

" _My name is Dave. I'm an EMT."_

"An EMT!" Dean gasped, his racing heart slamming against his ribs. "Why do you have my brother's phone?"

" _We were called to an incident in Sioux Falls. Your brother has been injured. He's—"_ There was the sound of a scuffle and then Sam's voice, quieter than usual, weaker, but just as irritated as it ever was came through. " _Dean, I'm fine. Just a knock on the head. I'm heading back to you now."_ There was the sound of another voice in the background then Sam spoke, muffled, as though he was covering the receiver. " _I'm not hurt. I answered all your stupid questions. I even know who's president. You can't make me go to the hospital, so quit while you're ahead."_

"Sammy," Dean started.

" _I'll be right there,"_ Sam said and then ended the call.

Dean looked down at the phone, stunned and worried. Had that just really happened? He looked to Bobby who was peacefully dozing on the couch and back to the door. He wanted to go looking for Sam, but he had no idea where he was and he couldn't leave Bobby. He was torn.

Unable to do anything but wait for Sam to get back, he sat down on a chair at the table and leaned his head in his hands. When were things going to get easy for them? Even after the deal was broken, would they be dodging from one drama to the other all the time or would they actually catch a break for once?

After about ten minutes of waiting impatiently and growing more and more sure Sam had wrapped the Impala around a tree thanks to his 'knock on the head', Dean heard the car pulling up outside the house. He yanked open the door and went out onto the porch to see Sam climbing out. His brother stood by the car for a moment, obviously steadying himself, and then walked toward him.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey! I get my call answered by an EMT and you're saying 'hey'?"

"Yes," Sam said. "Hey. What did you want me to say? Oh, Dean, I got a boo-boo?"

Dean scowled at him. "Don't give me crap for worrying, Sam. This isn't a joke."

"You're right. It's not. People are getting hurt, and I think I know what's doing it." He came up the steps and brushed past Dean on his way into the house.

Dean stood on the porch for a moment, just processing the fact his brother was an ass, and then he followed him inside. Sam was clapping his hands and calling Bobby's name loudly.

Bobby groaned as his eyes opened and he struggled to sit up. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Horns," Sam said.

Bobby nodded. "Horns."

"Wait," Dean said. "Are you telling me Satan got you, too?"

Sam ignored him, his attention still on Bobby. "Krampus?"

"Oh!" Bobby eyes widened. "Of course."

"Someone mind telling me what the hell's going on?" Dean said, annoyed.

Sam leaned against the edge of the desk and brought up a hand as if to rub his head before catching Dean's eye and dropping it back to his side.

"Krampus is legend," Bobby said.

"The local legend that didn't exist," Sam said pointedly.

Bobby ignored him. "It's a Christmas thing. Krampus is like the opposite of Santa. Legend is that it comes and punishes wicked people by whipping them with its birch rod. That's one legend anyway. The one people here celebrate."

"Celebrate?" Dean asked. "That sounds kinda screwed up."

"It's a tradition," Bobby said. "A lot of ancestry in the area is German and the traditions come from them. Another part of it is that you put out a boot or shoe on your doorstep for Krampus and if you're good you get a gift. If you're bad you get a rod."

"Yep," Dean said, nodding. "Screwed up."

Bobby got to his feet and made his unsteady way to the bookshelf. He picked out a book. "Tourist thing," he said apologetically. He flipped through the pages and then read aloud. _"The wickedest will be punished. Those that hide their guilt in their heart will be found and the rod will strike them down."_

Sam nodded. "Sounds about right, doesn't it? And the guy I looked into caused a car accident a while ago and was all twisted with guilt over it."

"Hang on," Dean said. "What are you two guilty about?"

Bobby and Sam exchanged a glance laden with meaning. "You don't get this far in the hunt without racking up _some_ guilt," Bobby said evasively.

"But it said wickedest. You two aren't wicked."

Sam scoffed. "From the Krampus' point of view we are. We hunt monsters. It's a monster. Do the math."

"It's not _the_ Krampus," Bobby said. "It's just Krampus. It's a name not a species."

"Never mind that," Sam said, grabbing the book from Bobby and flipping through the pages. "What are we supposed to do now? How do we find it? It doesn't say."

"Balls!" Bobby growled.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Well, according to the legend, it doesn't half do a job. It likes to finish it properly. It'll come back for us."

"Awesome," Sam said. "We wait and let it come to us? Just as long as it doesn't decide to bump off a couple more while we wait of course."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Sarcasm. What a pleasant change. We can maybe cut down on the other 'bumps' if you're up for a road trip."

"Yeah, where to?"

"It likes to immerse itself in the spirit of its season."

"The mall?" Sam asked hopefully.

Bobby shook his head. "Afraid not. It's got to be the point of origin."

Sam groaned and Dean said, "What?"

Sam heaved a deep sigh. "We're going to church."

* * *

Dean had a bad feeling about the hunt. A feeling the other two discounted. In Sam's words, 'We're going after Santa's evil twin; you'd be nuts not to have a bad feeling.'

Bobby recommended St. John's Church on the other side of town as the most likely place for Krampus to make its den as it was the oldest in the area and had a strong congregation. Luckily for them, that same congregation was out bothering people on their doorsteps by carol singing—Bobby pointed out the event announcement on the notice board in the porch.

Sam had argued against Bobby coming along as he was still unsteady on his feet and would slow them down, but as Bobby pointed out, Sam was little better. In the end, the three of them set out for the church in the Impala.

When they got there, Dean realized Sam was right about Bobby slowing them down, as he needed to lean on Dean as they walked around the cemetery that backed the church and after a few minutes of that, he had to sit. He'd either been clocked harder than Sam or Sam had a thicker skull. Whichever the reason, Dean was relieved when they set Bobby down by the rear door of the church with the colt in his lap to defend himself.

Sam had taken one side of the cemetery and Dean the other—Bobby's side. Their plan was to search for signs of Krampus. Bobby told them it was bigger than a human, and they both figured it would leave tracks. Dean wasn't stupid. He knew Sam had him on Bobby's side so he would be protected by the colt, and though he argued, Sam was immovable. Sam protecting Dean was fact; as much as it worried Dean, there was little he could do to change things.

The problem was there were no tracks. Dean scoured the ground and found nothing. He was making his way around the church to check on Sam, see if he'd had any luck, when he walked into what felt like a brick wall. He staggered back a few steps and cursed.

Horns.

The thing was huge. It had to be eight feet tall and it was broad across the shoulders and chest. Its body was covered in thick black hair and Dean was pretty sure he saw a tail whipping back and forth behind it. It was the craziest thing he'd ever seen in his life. In its hand was a wooden rod. It looked ancient. It was about two feet long and dark with varnish—or perhaps blood.

"Sam!" he shouted.

Krampus' face lowered closer to him, and Dean thought it was maybe scowling at him. Then it sniffed the air, its nostrils flaring, and nodded. Its arm pulled back and it made to swing the rod at him. Dean reacted instinctively. He lurched back, out of range, and then ran, shouting his brother's name.

"Dean?" Sam called back, his voice far away.

Dean heard the pounding of feet behind him, and he knew Krampus was giving chase. He pushed himself faster, but not fast enough to escape the rod that whipped across his back. It drove the air out of him and he fell forward, getting a mouthful of dirt.

He rolled over fast and then balled up as he saw the rod being raised again. Before it could strike him a voice shouted out, "Sam! Get down!" and there was the harsh crack of a gunshot.

Dean straightened and struggled to his feet, sure this would be it. He thought Krampus had to be dead, but it was still standing. It threw back its head and roared, a chilling and terrifying sound.

"Again!" Sam shouted.

There was another crack and Dean knew the bullet had hit as Krampus jolted and staggered forward a step. It made no sense that it was still on its feet— the colt should have killed it with the first shot.

"I think we have a problem here," Bobby said loudly.

"Yeah, no shit!" Sam called back.

Krampus turned toward Bobby and stalked forward, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed at the air. It raised the rod threateningly.

"Bobby!" Dean shouted, running at his friend.

Sam was faster. He stood between Krampus and Bobby, his arms spread and his face twisted with anger. "You want wicked?" he snarled. "Try me on for size."

Krampus leaned close to him and drew in a deep breath. It was almost impossible to tell through the thick hair that covered its face, but Dean thought it looked excited. It swung the rod, and it slammed into the arm Sam had raised to block the blow. Sam grunted but he didn't move away from Bobby.

Dean shouted his name as he ran towards his brother, not sure of what he would do when he reached him other than jump between them as Sam had done for Bobby, but Krampus thrust an arm back and it collided with his chest. He was knocked back, skidding across the ground until he hit a large tombstone where he came to rest, feeling like his ribs had been crushed. He was momentarily dazed, so he didn't see the blow that knocked Sam to the floor, but he saw the next as it crashed down on Sam's back.

"Bobby, do something!" Dean said desperately, struggling to get to his feet.

"What?" Bobby asked, waving the useless colt.

"Tulpa," Sam groaned as Krampus landed yet another blow.

"Tulpa?" Dean asked blankly.

Bobby apparently understood where Dean was lost. Dean saw the comprehension dawn in Bobby's face and then he called out, "The rod, Dean! The rod!"

Dean reacted without thought. He staggered forward and jumped as Krampus lifted the rod for another blow and grabbed it tightly. Whether Krampus was just surprised by the movement or was just slow to react, Dean didn't know, but its fingers loosened and Dean was able to wrench the rod out of its grip by lifting his feet from the ground and putting all his weight on it. He fell back a few feet but remained standing. Krampus turned on him, panting angrily, and Dean reacted. He brought the rod down on his knee, snapping it in two.

Dean had seen ghosts being taken out before; he'd seen the way the flames seemed to eat them away into sparks that dissipated into nothing. Something similar seemed to happen to Krampus. It was there one moment, and then it was just sparks flying into the air and disappearing. Dean watched it go until sense returned to him and he lurched toward Sam. Bobby was already there, pulling Sam to his feet and asking, "You okay, son?"

Sam rolled his shoulders and scowled. "Been better. I'll be okay." He turned to Dean. "Nice work."

"What was it?" Dean asked.

"Tulpa," Bobby said. "A manifestation of thought and belief. I guess a whole town full of people believing works. The colt apparently can't kill a thought."

"Who knew?" Sam said with a shaky laugh.

"Not me for sure," Bobby said. His expression became awkward. "Sam, thank you. I thought my number was up when it came for me."

"Not a problem," Sam said. "If you hadn't given Dean the heads up about the rod, my number _would_ have been up. Thank you."

Bobby smiled, looking around the graveyard. "We should get out of here. I think gunshots are enough to pull even our dozy cops into action. We should get you checked out too, Sam. I'm pretty sure I heard a couple ribs cracking when he landed that second blow."

"Nah," Sam said easily. "It's fine. I could really do with a drink though."

"You're not the only one," Bobby said fervently.

Dean nodded. They could drink. They could have their motel Christmas, and he wouldn't complain about any of it, because damn they deserved it.

* * *

Sam was asleep on the couch at Bobby's, open and innocent looking. Dean and Bobby were sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of whiskey in front of Bobby and a mug of coffee in front of Dean. He figured Sam was going to want to get out of there as soon as he woke up, so he stayed sober.

He was pretty sure Sam hadn't meant to fall asleep, but he was exhausted and obviously in pain—he refused point blank to take any of Bobby's offered painkillers. He remembered the first time he'd crashed at Dean's, after Gordon, and how he'd thought of how Sam had only ever slept when he felt safe. He wondered if Sam still felt the safety of Bobby's place the way he had as a child.

"What are you two planning next?" Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged. "Probably a motel for a while. Sam doesn't want to do Christmas, so we'll find somewhere quiet to bunker down."

"You're welcome to stay here," Bobby said.

"You not doing Christmas?"

Bobby shook his head. "It's a little pathetic doing it alone."

"That's a shame," Dean said sadly. He knew his Christmas would at least be spent with family, even if they weren't celebrating. Bobby would be all alone."

"Shame for you, too," Bobby observed. "You used to like the holiday." He smiled nostalgically. "Do you remember that Christmas you boys had here when you were young? You must have been…"

"Ten and fourteen," Dean said. "Yeah, I remember. That was a good one."

"You and Sam spent so long running around outside I thought I was going to have to call your daddy and tell him you'd both gotten hypothermia under my watch." He sighed, glancing over at Sam. "Things sure have changed."

"Yeah. It's not all bad though. Some things are way better than they were before." He was thinking of the fact Sam was in his life again. Sonny and Bobby were awesome, but it hadn't been the same as it was now he had his blood brother with him.

"But you still don't get your Christmas," Bobby said.

There was a moan from the couch and Sam sat up as Dean turned in his seat to face him. "Okay," he groaned. "I give. Get your crap together and we'll leave now."

"Where are we going?" Dean asked, confused and not ready to leave Bobby's company yet.

"The Roadhouse," Sam said resignedly. "I can't listen to you and him playing Santa and Tiny Tim anymore. Let's get out of here."

Dean eyed him hopefully. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Might as well." Sam struggled to his feet and swayed slightly. "Ellen will get a kick out of it, too. Bobby, you coming?"

"You want me to come?" Bobby asked, his happiness only half concealed.

"Sure," Sam said. "Wouldn't be Christmas without Santa."

Bobby laughed and Dean locked eyes with his brother, trying to communicate his gratitude without sentimental sap that Sam would abhor. Maybe Sam saw it, as he smiled and nodded to him.

* * *

Ellen just about lost her mind when they all arrived at The Roadhouse, battered and bruised. She fetched icepacks for their various injuries, even though it was long past the time they would be useful, and clucked over them like a mother hen. When she learned they were staying for Christmas, she was delighted, and Sam thought it was probably worth all the holiday crap he was going to suffer through for her reaction alone.

Jo ill-advisedly greeted Sam with a hug that made his broken ribs grind and him grit his teeth. Ash aimed for a backslap which Sam dodged. Ellen merely patted his cheek and smiled at him.

He made it through dinner without complaint, even though the others insisted on turning it into a 'my greatest holiday memory' session. He was surprised how many of their favorite memories included him. He was aware that he was generally a bad-tempered ass, but they didn't seem to mind.

After dinner Ellen brought in a bottle of whiskey for them to share, and though Sam really needed a drink by that point, he led Dean into the bar instead so they could have a moment of privacy. He directed Dean to a seat then went behind the bar to collect the package he'd stowed there. He'd not thought about gifts in advance—they hadn't exchanged them properly since Dean had given Sam a Sapphire Barbie and Sam had given him the amulet—but when he decided they were going to actually have a Christmas, he had realized he needed a gift to go with it for his brother. He knew as soon as he had the idea that he had found the perfect thing.

Dean looked stunned as Sam came back to the table with the brown-paper wrapped package in his hands. "Sam," he said softly. "You didn't have to…"

"It's not new," Sam said apologetically. "It's more of a hand-me-down."

He handed it over and Dean set it on the table. He looked at it for a moment and then peeled back a corner slowly.

"Not getting any younger," Sam said genially.

Dean laughed and tore into it. When the contents showed, his hands dropped onto his lap and his face paled. "Sammy… Man…"

"If you don't want it, we can put it away again," Sam said quickly.

Dean shook his head rapidly. "No! I want it." He ran his hand across the supple leather of John Winchester's leather jacket, his eyes red and his face overwhelmed. "It's perfect."

"I think he'd want it worn," Sam said awkwardly. "And it seemed right that it was you."

Dean swiped a hand over his face. "I don't know what to say."

Sam smiled. "It's been a while since I did the gift giving thing, but I think thank you is traditional."

"Thank you," Dean said fervently. "Really, Sam, thank you." He shook his head jerkily and his eyes cleared. "I've got something for you, too. Give me a sec."

He hurried out of the room. Sam touched the sleeve of the jacket, smiling slightly. He thought his father would have approved of him giving it to Dean. It was right that it was with family and not languishing in the closet.

Dean came into the room, his eyes alight with excitement and a small package in his hands. He gave it to Sam with an embarrassed, "If you don't like it I'm sure we can find someone else who can use it."

Sam tore the paper and his fingers felt the familiar touch of leather. He pulled it free of the paper and sucked in a breath as he saw what it contained. It was a dark sheath with intricate carving tooled into the leather and the hilt of a knife peeking out of the end. Sam gripped it and pulled it free. The knife was even more beautiful than the sheath. The engravings on the blade were so much more intricate and the metal was polished to a sheen. "Is this a _seolh_ knife?" he asked.

"Yep," Dean said happily.

"Where the hell did you find it? Me and Dad were looking for years."

"Bobby tracked it down. He knows a guy who collects weapons."

"Dean, this must have cost a fortune."

Dean shrugged. "Not that much. Besides, this is the only thing that'll kill a selkie, right? This thing will save lives. That's more important."

"It is. It will," Sam said.

"Then it was worth it," Dean said happily.

Sam looked up from the knife to his brother's eyes; they were alight with happiness in a way they hadn't been for a while.

"Merry Christmas, Dean," he said.

Dean grinned. "Merry Christmas, Sam."

* * *

 **So… The boys had an actual, honest-to-Chuck Christmas together. SandraEngstrom2 especially felt passionately about them having this together, so after much drama and compromise this was born. The idea of Sam giving Dean their father's jacket seemed right to me, but I had no idea what Dean could give Sam. Luckily, Gredelina1's husband weighed in on the problem and came up with the knife. Thank you Mr. Gredelina1.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fabulous beta job. Thank you also to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all the help and support.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty**_

Sam and Dean were heading back to The Roadhouse from Washington. They'd made the trip to check out some demon signs, but by the time they'd crossed the state line the signs were gone—the demon had moved on.

Something was going on with Dean. He was tense and anxious throughout the drive home. His fingers tapped his knees and his jaw clenched and relaxed occasionally. Sam asked what was wrong, but for once Dean didn't want to talk. Sam figured he would open up about whatever was bothering him in his own time, so he didn't push. He hated it when Dean went all _social worker_ on him, wanting him to talk his feelings out, so he didn't try to do the same to Dean.

He knew Dean wastalking to someone though. He had interrupted a call when he'd returned to the car after paying for gas. Dean had said it was just Sonny checking in, but Sam didn't believe it; Dean had hung up too quickly and without a goodbye when Sam appeared. Also, Dean usually came away from calls with Sonny looking better, happier. He wasn't happy now.

By the time they pulled up at the back of The Roadhouse, Dean looked worse than ever, like he was heading to the gallows, his face grim but determined. Sam started to have the first stirrings of unease. Did Dean know something he wasn't telling Sam?

His suspicions were confirmed when he got into the kitchen—Dean definitely knew something.

Sam hesitated in the doorway, his eyes on the people seated around the table. Ellen, Jo, Ash and Bobby were gathered there, their expressions identical in their bleakness. They each had a mug of coffee in front of them, but there was an unopened bottle of whiskey in the middle of the table and one clean glass.

"What's happened?" he asked immediately. "Who is it?"

"Nothing's happened, Sam," Dean said, nudging past him and taking a seat between Ellen and Bobby. "Everyone's okay."

"Then what's going on?"

"Come sit down," Ellen said gently. "We need to talk."

"About?"

"Just sit down, honey."

"I think I'll stand, thanks," Sam said, moving to lean against the counter with his hands braced either side of him.

Ellen and Dean exchanged a glance and Dean shook his head slightly.

"What's going on?" Sam asked again, growing concerned. They could say everyone was okay but they weren't acting like it.

"We need to talk," Dean said seriously.

Sam took it all in—their expressions, the somber mood of the room, the untouched bottle of whiskey on the table, and the pieces fell into place. He laughed harshly. "Is this an intervention?"

"No, it's a conversation," Ellen said. "Sam, we love you and want what's best for you. We're concerned about you."

"This sounds a helluva lot like an intervention to me," Sam said.

The whole thing was ridiculous. So he drank. Like that was anything new. He wasn't even drinking as much as he had been before Dean's deal. He had cut it back so he could focus on what mattered. So he sometimes drank when on a hunt now. It wasn't like he was going after the monster while loaded. Apart from the succubus, but that had been a part of the plan—Jo's plan—to get him to loosen up.

He didn't have a problem.

"We just want to talk," Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I wondered when this'd happen. You missing the kids that much you want to practice on me? Make sure you don't get rusty?"

Dean didn't even flinch from Sam's bitterness. He stared Sam back in the eye and said. "I'm worried about you. We all are."

"And you, Ash?" Sam said. "You worried about me drinking? Think maybe I'm outstripping you as The Roadhouse's resident alcoholic?"

Ash raised his hands. "You know me, man; I've got no problem with anyone appreciating the joys alcohol has to bring. Drink if you like. I'm more worried about the other stuff."

" _Other_ _stuff_?" Sam said.

"This isn't about you drinking," Ellen said and gestured to the bottle of whiskey. "In fact, we thought that might make this easier for you."

"Make what easier?" Sam asked, genuinely confused now. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"We're talking about you," Jo said, making it sound like an accusation. "About you diving toward death with every hunt."

Sam snorted. "Diving toward death? You're kidding me, right?"

"Not a joke, Sam," Bobby said, speaking up for the first time. "They've told me what's going on, and I've seen some of it for myself. We're all worried about you."

"I'm sure you are," Sam said sardonically. "Come on then, let's get it out of your systems so I can get on with things that actually matter. When _exactly_ have I been diving towards death?""

"The succubus," Jo said.

"Ellsworth," Ellen added.

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest looked defiant. "Krampus."

Dean looked apologetic as he said, "Trying to exchange my deal."

Okay, when they said it like that, it _did_ sound bad, but they were taking things out of context. The succubus was killing Dean; of course he set himself up as bait for her. Ellsworth was about saving Dean from a gunshot. Krampus was going to beat Bobby to death. And breaking the deal… They just didn't damn well talk about that.

Sam took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to get himself under control. ""I'm a _hunter._ That comes with risks."

"Lots of people are hunters," Jo retorted. "They're not all getting beaten to hell like you. They're not getting shot."

"I guess they're lucky," Sam said dismissively.

Sure, he had been knocked around a little lately, but that was just a part of hunting. He'd always taken a few knocks in the name of the job. Maybe it was a little more lately, but there was an obvious reason for that. Dean. It wasn't the same as when he'd been hunting with his father. John was experienced and competent. Dean was still coming back into it. Sam couldn't trust him to protect himself, so Sam had to cover his back, too.

"They're not lucky," Ellen said. "They're careful."

Sam was getting more and more annoyed now. He was careful, but he was also saving lives and that didn't come risk free. What did they expect him to do? Abandon all the people who needed him? Ignore the hunts so he didn't get a little bruised? It wasn't going to happen.

"Do you want to die?" Ellen asked.

"No!"

"But you're willing to," Jo said softly.

He frowned. "What kind of hunter isn't?"

Ellen flinched and Sam was astonished to see her eyes were wet. What the hell was this? It couldn't come as a shock to her that he was willing to die to save a life. She _knew_ him, probably better than anyone now John was gone; she shouldn't expect less of him.

"I'm not suicidal. I'm just doing my job."

"What about Yellow-Eyes?" Jo said. "You shot yourself."

Sam glared at her, his annoyance rising to anger. "That was different," he said, enunciating every word.

"Was it?" Bobby asked.

"Yes," Sam said angrily. "All of this is different. You're taking everything out of context. I got beat to hell because I was protecting you." He stared pointedly at Bobby. "The succubus was about getting the job done to save Dean. Yellow-Eyes needed to be stopped." He _deserved_ to be stopped. He ruined Sam's whole damn life. "And we're _not_ talking about the deal," he finished in a growl.

"Maybe we should." Dean spoke up. "You've been risking your neck ever since I got you back."

"No, I have been risking my neck since I was a kid and took my first hunt. Just because you're there to see it now, doesn't mean it's something new."

"You're worse," Ellen said. "I know you are."

This was ridiculous. He was worse now because Dean was at stake. He wasn't only facing death if Sam screwed up. If the succubus or demon or hellhounds got him, he was facing an eternity in Hell. And Bobby had been about to take the beating of a lifetime. Why did they not see that?

"I am done with this shit," he growled pushing away from the counter.

"Don't walk away," Ellen said fiercely. "We need to have this out."

"Fine," Sam said, goaded into speech by his anger. "Let's _talk_ about it. Let's _have it out_." He turned on Dean. "You want to know the problem? You want to know why I'm 'worse'? It's because of you! I don't just watch my own back now; I have to watch yours, too. Because you made that damn deal. You dealt with a demon. I was dead. I was done. But you went and offered up yourself. Now, every minute of every day that's on my mind. When a demon gets you in its sights, when a succubus lures you, all I can think of is how I'm going to save you! I don't mind dying because it's better than the alternative!" he shouted.

"Sammy… I'm sorry… I don't mean to put you in danger. I can handle myself."

"No!" Sam snapped. "You can't. Which means I have to watch you. The sooner we're done with this deal, the sooner you're back to your kids, the better." He rubbed a hand over his forehead, suddenly exhausted and wanting nothing more than to be alone. "I understand why you're worried. I get it because I feel the exact same way. But this…"—he waved a hand at the table—"is bullshit, because no matter what you say, what guilt you throw at me, I'm going to do it all exactly the same. And you all know that. You know that because you know _me_." He let out a sarcastic huff. "This meeting wasn't for me. This was for you all. This is so you can say you did the best you could when it finally happens."

Ellen lurched to her feet and advanced on him. "Do you really think that?" she asked through gritted teeth. "You think this is about _us_?"

"I know it."

Ellen snapped out a hand and slapped his cheek hard.

Sam's head rocked to the side but he quickly turned back to face her. "Feel better?" he asked.

"No," she said, massaging her palm and looking shocked, as if even she hadn't known she was going to do it until it was done.

Dean stood and rested his hands on Ellen's shoulders, whether to restrain or comfort, Sam wasn't sure. "This isn't about us," Dean said. "This _is_ about you. We're worried because we care." He looked uncertain for a moment. "I wish you'd care, too."

"I care," Sam said stiffly. "I care about helping people who can't help themselves. I care about saving you. I want this over so you can have your life again and I can have mine."

That was a lie. He wasn't going to be hunting after he broke the deal; he probably wouldn't even be living. That would be impossible because he wouldn't be the same man. He was going to tap into something dark to break the deal, just like Ava and Ansem had done. He was going to be changed, and there was no way he was living like one of them.

He strode from the room, leaving silence behind him.

* * *

"Well that was an epic failure," Bobby said, sounding disappointed.

Dean nodded. "We pushed him too hard. He wasn't ready." Though there was no guarantee he'd ever be ready. He was Sam.

Dean had forgotten, or perhaps ignored the fact, that this was the same man who had lurked outside his house for a week without coming in because he wasn't ready. He was the man who had shot himself in the chest to kill a demon. Sam had seemed to change so much since then that Dean hadn't taken into consideration the fact that Sam was still the same man underneath. The changes were all on the surface for the benefit of the rest of them.

The thought made him sad. Despite the drama and danger of the past months, he had been so pleased that Sam was different, sometimes seeming happy, free. He'd had a glimpse of the kid he'd known a lifetime ago, the kid Sam had been. His worst fear now was that they'd driven that away completely by pushing him.

"What do we do?" Ellen asked.

"Nothing," Dean said. "We've done enough. We let Sam lead. He might withdraw for a while to work through what we said, but that's nothing new to any of us. We just have to let him do what he wants for a while."

Jo looked miserable. "I really thought this would help."

So had they all. They were wrong. They'd screwed up. And Dean had been the biggest screw up of them all. He'd made Sam like this. His deal had driven Sam to risking himself at every turn. He had no regrets for his choice though. A life with Sam being reckless was better than a life without him at all.

Sam didn't talk to any of them again that night. He sat in his corner of the bar, steadily working his way through a bottle of whiskey and ignoring them all. Bobby went home disheartened, and Jo stayed in her room. Dean sat at the bar talking idly to Ellen between her serving people, and wondered what to do next. His instinct was to leave it. To not push Sam more, to let him have his space, but he was genuinely worried that if he did that, he'd lose him completely.

There was also a point that needed to be addressed. Sam had said he would be happy when Dean went 'back to his kids'. Dean had assumed Sam knew that part of his life was over. It had been over since he took the tire iron to Ellsworth's head. He had become a hunter then and there was no turning back. Even if Sam were to turn his back on him after the deal was broken and go back to his solitary way of life, Dean would carry on with the life.

Sam wouldn't like it, that was obvious, but he needed to know regardless. Secrets had dogged Sam's life, and he didn't deserve more to be kept from him. He needed the truth.

Dean went to bed that night with a heavy heart and he didn't hear Sam come in.

* * *

Sam didn't mention their intervention again—that was what it had been, despite what they'd said; they'd been intervening to save Sam's life. When Dean went into the kitchen the next morning, he was sitting at the table flipping through the newspaper. He looked up when Dean entered and said, "Morning."

"Morning."

"There's coffee," Sam said.

Dean poured himself a mug and sat down at the table opposite Sam. "Finding anything?" he asked, gesturing to the newspaper.

Sam shook his head. "It's only the local."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Dean knew he should speak up, be honest with Sam about the hunting thing, but he was leery of Sam's reaction. He found himself fidgeting in his seat and toying with the salt cellar on the table. Sam glanced up occasionally, watching him, only to turn back to his newspaper with a furrowed brow.

After a long time of silence and fidgeting, Sam asked. "What's wrong, Dean? Got something you want to say?"

It was the opening Dean needed, but he didn't speak up. He didn't feel ready. It was Sam's bitterness when he spoke again that made his ire rise and him talk.

"What's wrong? Need the others before you can talk to me about things that are no one's business?"

"I'm hunting," Dean said quickly.

Sam frowned. "I'm aware. Have you found something for us?"

"No, I mean I _am_ a hunter. Yesterday you were talking like I was going back to my old life when things are taken care of. I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Sam said, continuing to read.

"No, I'm not."

Sam looked up again and lowered the newspaper. "Why?" He sounded calm and only peripherally interested as he asked, as if requesting a weather report.

"Because that's who I am."

"No, who you are is a social worker; someone who saves lives in a different way. You don't want this, Dean. Not deep down. You just think you need to do it."

He still sounded so reasonable, so calm. It made Dean angry. It was as if Sam thought he could just say no and Dean would agree like a good boy. He wasn't a boy. He was a man with intelligence, knowledge and strengths, and the damn ability to make this decision for himself.

"I know who I am, thanks," Dean said loudly. "And I know what I'm doing. It doesn't matter what you say. I am hunting. It's my legacy, too, not just yours. Dad trained me just like he did you, and I am going to put that training to use."

Sam's hands fisted, making the paper rustle and crinkle. "You don't want this."

"I do," Dean said doggedly. "I am. You don't have a say. You're not Dad."

The color drained from Sam's face and his lips pressed into a thin line. He stood and dropped the newspaper down on the table, then made for the back door.

"Yeah, walk away," Dean said bitterly. "That's what you do, right? Just like Dad." He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, wishing he could take them back.

Sam froze and his hands balled into fists. He took a deep breath and exhaled, making his shoulders rise and fall. He looked back at Dean and there was fury in his features. "Fuck you, Dean."

He yanked open the door and strode out, letting it slam behind him. A moment later Dean heard the sound of the Impala coming to life and fading as Sam drove away.

* * *

So Dean wanted to hunt. Thought he actually could. That was great. He could saddle up to the family business and get himself killed. It would all be for nothing, breaking the deal, corrupting himself, it would be wasted because Dean would end up dead anyway.

 _At least he won't be in Hell._

Like that made a difference. He would still be gone. He wouldn't be gone from Sam, Sam would be out of the picture long before that happened, but he would still be leaving the world. He would waste all his knowledge and experience that let him help other people, and he would be a corpse for some other hunter to burn.

Sam hated it.

There was more though. He knew his brother and he knew this wasn't something he could argue or bully him out of. Dean's mind was made up. There was only one thing for Sam to do now.

With the limited time they had left together, he was going to make Dean the best damned hunter he could. Then, when he was gone, Dean would have the best possible chance at surviving.

Sam would do everything he could to stop his brother from going down in flames.

* * *

 **So… That happened. The intervention was a joke between me, SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 at first. We kept talking about how Sam needed an intervention before he got himself killed. It occurred to me Dean and Ellen would be thinking the same thing, then after the succubus hunt Jo started shouting in my head about it, too. It developed into this chapter.**

 **Don't worry, the boys aren't going to be on the outs for too long.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	21. Chapter 21

**Jenjoremy rocked this chapter—as she always does—and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 put in extra hours helping me work through the kinks. You ladies rock.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Twenty-One_**

Sam stayed away for two days. By the time he walked back through the bar door late one evening, Ellen had just about lost her mind and Dean was convinced he would never come back. He didn't allude to his time away or his and Dean's fight; he just got himself a beer and took up residence beside Ash at the bar.

Ellen tried to talk to him about his disappearing act and got nothing. Dean didn't even try. It didn't matter to him where Sam had been or what he'd done. He was just glad he'd come back again. Sam didn't talk about Dean's decree that he was staying in the life either. Dean didn't think it was the end of the issue, though. He figured it would rear its head again at some point, but he would take the reprieve while he could.

After the bar closed and Dean had helped Ellen and Jo clear up, he went to bed, leaving Sam and Ash sitting at a table, talking quietly.

He slept fitfully, and each time he woke he checked the other bed to see if Sam had come in, but he was never there. He didn't see him until around dawn when Sam shook him awake, dressed in clean clothes and freshly shaved.

"What's going on?" Dean asked sleepily.

"Wake your ass up. We've got a long drive."

Dean rubbed at his tired eyes. "Where are we going?"

"Arizona. I found us a case."

Dean sat up and stared. "You what?" After their last conversation, he'd been sure Sam would keep him from hunting at any cost. He'd expected to be the one forced to track them a case and guilt Sam into taking it by mentioning the people they could be saving.

"A case," Sam repeated slowly. "You're a hunter now, right? That means we hunt."

"Yeah," Dean said quickly, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep and sitting up. "Sure. I'm up for it."

"Good. Get your ass up and dressed and we'll head out." Sam strode from the room, his duffel slung over his shoulder.

Dean hurried to obey, meeting Sam in the kitchen five minutes later. Sam was just finishing up a message on the chalkboard. _Taken a hunt in Arizona. Back in a week tops. Call if you need us._

"You ready?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said.

Sam picked up his bag from the table and left. Dean took a moment to clear his head at the strange turn of events and then followed him out.

* * *

"Here's what we know," Sam said. "There have been three victims so far. They've all died from what the press is calling 'extreme head trauma'."

"Like bludgeoning?" Dean asked.

"No idea," Sam said. "The details are vague."

Dean frowned. "What makes you think this is our kind of case?"

"Just a gut feeling," Sam said idly.

"And does this 'feeling' have any other clues for us to follow?"

"No. I can't get through the PD firewall to check their files either." He sounded impressively relaxed about it all, as if it was no problem they had nothing to go on other than head trauma and his gut. It wasn't like him. Sam was intense and focused at the best of times, but on a hunt he was usually so much more.

"What do we do then?" Dean asked.

"What do _you_ think we should do?" he countered.

That was different, too. Sam usually led on a case. He would share theories with Dean, talk about the angle they would use for the hunt—feds or reporters—and then usually do whatever he had already decided on. Something was going on. Sure, he could still be pissed at Dean—he had good reason after the intervention and what Dean had said—but it didn't feel right.

"Well?" Sam prompted.

"If we can't get into the PD files, we need to go to them directly," Dean said. "And for that we need to be feds. We can go by the morgue too and see if we can get a look at the post mortem reports, too."

Sam nodded approvingly. "Yeah. That's good." He sounded like a teacher praising Dean on a good piece of homework. It was so unlike Sam that it reinforced Dean's feeling that something was going on.

Dean grabbed his suit and stripped off his travel-worn clothes to change. Sam stared out of the window for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he changed too.

Fake fed badges tucked into pockets, they drove across town to the police department. It was a small redbrick building with large windows that made it look more like a storefront than a PD.

Dean was out of the car and halfway across the lot before he realized Sam wasn't with him. He looked back and raised an eyebrow, and Sam nodded and climbed out, sighing like he was disappointed he had to move. Dean reminded himself the hunt was Sam's catch and it was his gut that had led them there. It wasn't like Dean had dragged him along, so he shouldn't feel apologetic for making him get his ass out of the car and do his job.

Sam came to a stop beside Dean and gestured him ahead. Dean was confused, but he took the lead and pushed open the door.

There was a young woman behind the desk and as they entered she looked up and smiled. "Yes, gentlemen?"

Dean waited for Sam's standard 'we're feds and we don't have time to make nice' routine, but he didn't deliver. He stayed a few steps back and watched Dean expectantly.

"Hello," Dean said awkwardly. "We're Agents Page and Plant from the FBI. Can we speak with your chief?"

"Uh, sure. I'll just let him know you're here." She stood and weaved around a cubicle false wall and out of sight.

Dean glanced at Sam, wanting some reassurance or explanation for why he had suddenly become the passenger for this case, but he was staring at the notice board, pointedly avoiding Dean's eye.

After a moment of silence between the two of them, the receptionist came back followed by a portly man in a dark blue uniform that stretched tightly across his stomach. "Agents," he said genially. "Chief Reynolds. How can I help you?"

"Is it possible to speak somewhere private?" Dean asked.

"Sure, come on through to my office."

They walked around the counter, through a room dotted with a few desks and a large notice board on the back wall, and into a small office. There was a desk facing the door with two seats in front of it. The room was sparsely decorated, and Dean was reminded of Mike's office back in his other life.

They each took a seat and the chief leaned forward in his chair. "So, what can I do for you? We don't often have the feds come to our little town."

Sam turned to Dean and looked expectant again. Dean bit down his annoyance at Sam's mute act and cleared his throat. "We're here about the recent deaths."

"Ah, yes. I should have guessed. We don't have much else here to interest the FBI. We're usually a quiet town. I spend more time breaking up teen parties and handing out speeding tickets that anything else. Well, there's not a lot I can tell you other than the fact there have been three deaths of vagrant types and they were all killed the same way."

"Which way is that?" Dean asked.

The chief grimaced. "They were stabbed right in the brain. The ME has never seen anything like it. I have his report here…" He rifled through the folders on his desk and handed one to Dean. "Take a look. You fellas seen anything like this before?"

Dean opened the folder and flipped through the ME photos clipped to the report. The first showed a woman's face. She looked pathetic and sad with her ashen skin and blue lips. She had been young, probably only in her early twenties. A waste. The second photo showed the back of her head with a neat but large hole, angled toward the brain. He handed the file to Sam, and he glanced over the picture then handed it back without speaking.

"It's like nothing I've ever seen," Dean said.

The chief nodded. "Thought as much. It's not something you come across every day." He turned to Sam. "What about you, agent?"

Sam shook his head. "Never seen it before."

"Is there anything else strange about the deaths?" Dean asked when it became clear Sam wasn't going to say anything else.

"Funny you should ask. The ME report says the people had no defensive wounds. Whoever killed them came at them from behind. Also… there was a piece missing."

"A piece?"

"The pituitary gland had been clean scooped out."

It meant nothing to Dean. He'd never heard of a fugly that did that, but it was the best news he'd had all day; at least it might provide a clue as to what they were dealing with. Maybe Sam had already heard of it. It would definitely make things easier if he had.

"Okay," he said, eager to get out of there so he could quiz Sam, "I think that's all we need. Thanks for all your help."

Sam cleared his throat. "Actually, there is something else. I have a couple questions. You said the victims were vagrant types. Do you have a lot of vagrants in town?"

"We have a few," the chief admitted. "Small towns are a little more forgiving than the big cities. We have a group of church women who deliver food to them, give them blankets when it gets cold."

"Where can they be found?"

"By the old railway track under the bridge. They're often in town during the day, but that's where you'll find them during the night."

"And that's where the bodies were found?"

The chief nodded. "All three of them. No witnesses though. It happened in the dead of night while they were sleeping."

Sam got to his feet. "One more thing. Can we have a copy of the ME report?"

"Of course, I'll have Maria copy it for you."

He walked from the room, leaving Sam and Dean alone. Dean was feeling very stupid. He should have thought to ask those questions instead of Sam. They were important and they hadn't even crossed his mind. If not for Sam, they would have been clueless of where to even start their search.

* * *

When they got back to the motel, Sam tossed John's journal onto the table and said, "You want to see if there's anything in there? I'll go get us some food."

Dean was hungry but more than that he wanted a little space. He felt like Sam was judging him for his screw up at the PD, forgetting the most basic but important questions. It wasn't the worst thing he could have done, but it still felt big to him. He'd been telling Sam that he was a hunter, but he was making rookie mistakes that he should have given up when he was a kid.

Sam left without another word, letting the door swing shut behind him, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up the journal and opened it. He still felt the same reverence when he looked through it now as he had the first time. It was a piece of his father.

He lost himself in the lines of neat handwriting, losing track of time until he turned a page and saw a sketched image of something that caught his eye. It was faceless, the figure ending at the neck, and the shoulders and torso were only shaded in. The most detailed drawn parts were the hands. They bore long claws, longer than Dean had ever seen. Beneath the image was a description of the creature— _Kitsune. Born not created. Feed on pituitary glands with claws. Method of death: stab through the heart._ Beneath that was another note. _Feb '98. Sam took out a Kitsune today._ _His first._

Dean dropped the journal onto the bed and sucked in a breath. Sam knew. Sam knew what it was, had probably known since he first found the case. So why the hell was he having Dean play fed and making him look stuff up in the journal? What was the point in that? Was this some joke, some revenge for their argument, making Dean look like an idiot? It seemed too petty for Sam, but why else would he be doing it?

The door opened then and Sam entered with a brown paper sack of food. "Find anything?" he asked.

"Yeah. I think it's something called a Kitsune." He eyed Sam shrewdly, searching for a reaction or tell. Sam's expression showed only mildly interest though.

"Does it say how to kill it?"

Dean stared at him. Was he seriously going to pretend he didn't know already? "We have to stab it through the heart."

"Great. That should be easy enough. We've just got to find it. Any ideas?"

Dean had been formulating a plan, but he hadn't expected to need to spell it out for Sam, not since he already knew what they were hunting and he'd taken on at least once before. "I think we should scout out this bridge where the attacks are happening," he said. "See if it comes back."

"Sounds good," Sam agreed, nodding. "Eat and then we'll get ourselves changed and set up."

Dean reached for the paper sack and pulled out a burger. As he ate, he thought over what was happening and sighed. Something was going on with Sam. For whatever reason, he was leaving Dean blind about things he should share. It was no way to go into a hunt.

* * *

When something feels too easy, that's because it usually is. Dean learned that the hard way with the Kitsune.

Sam set himself up as the target, making his cardboard and newspaper bed a little away from the other people bunkered down at the bridge, a tempting target for the monster. He had a knife tucked in his boot and the colt under the newspaper, but Dean was the one that was going in for the kill. Sam was in the open and Dean was concealed.

It was probably easier for Sam, as he got to lie down and at least pretend to rest while Dean spent the three hours it took for the Kitsune to show itself hiding in the trees that lined the edge of the old railway line. He was stiff and sore, and that was how he got hurt.

He was expecting the Kitsune to come out of the left, the way that led into town, but it was already there. One of the men they'd seen making his bed for the night roused himself around two a.m. and moved away from the main group. Dean thought at first it was just another man making a trip to nature's bathroom, but then he stalked toward Sam. Claws descended from his fingers, so much more menacing than they looked in the sketch.

As soon as Dean saw them, he rushed out of his hiding place, knife raised, but the Kitsune heard him coming. As Dean approached, the creature spun on his heel and swept a hand out. Claws whipped across Dean's forearm, tearing through his skin and leaving burning pain in their wake.

For a moment he was distracted. It was Sam's voice shouting his name that brought him back to the moment. Sam kicked the Kitsune toward him, shouting, "Kill it!"

Dean obeyed without thought. The kick had caught the Kitsune off guard, and he didn't react in time to dodge or block the knife. Dean plunged it into the thing's chest, right over the heart. His eyes widened and he looked stunned even as the life went out of him. Dean pulled out the blade out and the corpse thudded to the ground.

Dean stared down at it, barely aware of the pain in his arm until Sam wrapped his fingers around the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

"C'mon," he said brusquely. "Let's get you stitched up."

* * *

"Thought it would be bigger," Sam said idly.

Dean laughed. "Dude, it's the Grand Canyon. Things don't get much bigger than this."

They had left town long before dawn, driving an hour to a lookout spot in time to see the first light of morning brightening the sky. Dean had been surprised by their location. Sam wasn't the type to stop and enjoy landmarks.

Dean was enjoying the view, but his mind was troubled. Sam seemed in a better mood now and would probably answer Dean's questions honestly, but he might also shut down and refuse to say a thing. Dean didn't want to ruin the moment. He sat in silence, biting his lip, deep in thought.

"What's on your mind, Dean?" Sam asked eventually.

Dean fixed his eyes on a spot on the horizon. It was now or never. "You knew about the Kitsune."

Sam nodded. "I did."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed and said, "Dad thought my first solo kill was when I was fourteen. It wasn't. It was four months later when we went after a Ghoul."

Dean frowned. "Okay…"

"The first hunt, the one he thought I took down alone, was a Kitsune. I met this girl. It's a long story, but Dad was hunting the mother. I didn't know the girl was a Kitsune. I just thought she was cute. We were back at her place and the mother caught us." He shook his head. "She was going to kill me. The girl, Amy, saved my life. She killed her mother to save me. I knew if Dad found out about Amy, he'd kill her. She was a monster after all. So I told her to run, and I lied to Dad. I told him I'd made the kill." He smiled slightly. "He was so damn proud of me. Anyway. I'm getting off topic. My point is that I made my first real decision as a hunter at age fourteen. I have been in this life a long time, and it's made me what I am. I'm good. I'm not being arrogant; it's just a fact. I save lives because that's what I was trained to do."

"I know," Dean said softly, thinking of how much he wished that was different.

"You were trained, too," Sam said. "But you're not the same now as you were when you were sixteen. The reason I stood back today was because I wanted to see what you could do on your own. You want to be a part of the life for good. I hate that. I don't want it. But it's not my choice to make. It's yours. If you're going to hunt, I am going to make sure you're the best damn hunter you can be. Understand?"

"Yeah," Dean said, smiling in spite of himself. Sam wasn't on board with it by any means, but he was accepting it wasn't his choice to make. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam shrugged off his thanks and looked at the horizon as the sun made its first appearance for the day. He smiled slightly. "Happy birthday, Dean. It's January 24th."

"It is?" Dean said. "I didn't even realize." He grinned. "So, what did you get me?"

"A promise," Sam said. "I promise I'm giving you a damn long life, No matter what else happens, I'll deliver on that one. Understand?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said. "I understand." He understood and believed Sam would try, but Dean didn't have the same faith he'd had at the beginning. Sam hadn't mastered his powers and they were running out of time.

Despite what he said to Sam about being in the life for good, with every day that passed, he became more and more certain it was going to end with hell for him.

The very worst part of that was that he'd be leaving Sam behind.

* * *

 **So… A hunt and a quick glance at The Grand Canyon. In my head the 'farty donkey' conversation never happened in The Great Escapist, because that was crap! Dean says in Croatoan that they've never been.** ** _This_** **is the first time the boys are seeing The Grand Canyon. Okay? Good. *calms self* Hope you enjoyed.**

 **We're getting down to it now. There are 25 chapters total in this story. Things will pick up in a hurry now.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy, SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all of your awesome help. You ladies rock!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Two**_

They were ushered into an office by a desk sergeant and told that the chief would be with them soon. Sam took the time to look around the office. One wall was decorated with framed certificates, citations, and newspaper headlines praising the police force. Sam caught Dean's eye and tilted his head towards the wall of glory.

Dean nodded. "This might not be as easy as we hoped."

"I doubt he'll be a fan of the FBI," Sam returned.

Someone who took that much pride in himself and his team wasn't going to want the feds pushing in on his case. Sam had dealt with the problem a few times in his hunting career, and there was a way to counter it, but it was something he hated to do. He had to pander to whatever ass came through that door. He would have to make nice.

"Let me lead."

Dean frowned. "Sam, you know you can't beat on a—" He cut off abruptly as the door opened behind his chair.

"Chief Bennett?" Sam asked as the man came in. He was probably in his mid-forties and his neatly pressed uniform and close-cropped graying hair made Sam think of the military.

"My name on the desk," the man said gruffly.

Sam pasted on a smile that he hoped looked more sincere than it felt. "I was just looking at your decorations here: citations from the mayor, praise from the press. You don't get those for handing out speeding tickets."

The chief eyed Sam shrewdly and then let a small smile curl his lips. "You sure don't."

Dean shot Sam a 'what the hell' look but the chief missed it as he came into the room and moved to sit behind the desk. "I understand you gentlemen are from the FBI."

Sam pulled his badge from his pocket and held it up. "Agents Plant and Page."

He nodded slowly. "I see. And what can the FBI possibly want from our little town?"

"Well, Chief, we're not entirely sure ourselves," Sam said with an ingratiating smile. "We were sent here by our boss to check out the deaths you've had in town. The John Does. The office seems to think there's something we can help with there."

"Things in the FBI must be a little slow if you're investigating perfectly natural deaths."

Sam nodded. "That's our thinking, too, but you know what the bureau is like. We can't have agents sitting around doing nothing, so they'll find something for us to do, even if it's crazy."

The chief laughed, warming to the subject. "No offence, fellas, but I imagine you boys are paid too much to be allowed to sit around doing nothing."

"You're probably right," Sam said, his smile growing. "So we better earn our keep and get to work."

The chief leaned back in his seat and nodded slowly. "I suppose so. Okay, what can I do to help the bureau today?"

Sam glanced at Dean and gave a slight nod for him to take over. He was done playing performing monkey for the chief. Dean could have a go at it.

"Would you mind going over the facts for us on the deaths?" Dean asked.

"Well, they weren't local, no one here recognized them, and we've searched the missing persons files. The three men are John Does."

"And their deaths?" Dean said. "What can you tell us about that?"

"They were natural deaths," the chief said determinedly. "Our ME said so."

"Natural how?" Dean asked. "What was the actual cause of death?"

"Cardiac arrest."

Sam frowned. "I'm sorry, I'm no doctor, but doesn't that just mean their hearts stopped beating?"

"Yes, perfectly naturally. They weren't shot, strangled, poisoned, beaten, or stabbed. There was no sign of injury at all. They just died. No crimes so nothing to investigate, see?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance.

"And the fact that they were all found in the same place after their deaths?" Dean asked. "That's not worth investigating?"

The chief shook his head. "When you say same place, you mean the one mile stretch of road into town. That's no mystery. It's a pretty piece of town with the bridge and the river. Lots of people stop to get a look before they move on. It just so happens that these people died while they were looking."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam cut him off. "Unusual, but not that strange really." He didn't look at Dean though he was pretty sure that he was giving him the 'what the hell' face again. "We've all got to die sometime."

"Absolutely," the chief said.

"Is there _anything_ else you can tell us about the case before we move on?" Dean asked.

"Well…" The Chief hesitated and then seemed to make up his mind. "There was one more death; it was recent so it hasn't been entered in the database yet." He pulled a file out of the pile on corner of his desk. "The last person to go meet the almighty in that particular spot was Franklin Roberts."

"You were able to ID this John Doe?" Sam asked.

"No. Well yes, but no not really." He sighed. "Franklin was never a John Doe. He _was_ a local man. He and his wife had a house on the other side of town. He was found a few days ago, and… It's no surprise really, she's under a tremendous amount of strain, but his wife seems to be having some kind of breakdown. She's in the hospital now. They're running tests."

"When you say breakdown…" Sam said.

"Some kind of traumatic amnesia. It seems she doesn't remember her husband at all. It's like he never existed for her."

* * *

Sam's exact words were, _'I am done making nice for today. You take crazy widow, and I'll get to researching'_. Dean thought he'd done an impressive job with the cop, so he agreed to take the trip to the hospital alone. If Sam had spent his ability to play nice with others for a day, it was better he didn't go. A traumatized and possibly crazy widow wasn't the ideal person for his usual interview techniques.

When he got to the hospital, he flashed his badge a couple times and listened to a doctor's warning about not overexciting Mrs. Roberts, and then he was led to her room.

She was sitting in a plush chair by the window, her bed neatly made. Her graying hair was pulled back from her face in a bun and she wore a cardigan over her hospital gown. Dean tagged her age as late sixties, early seventies.

"Mrs. Roberts?" he asked as he stepped into the room.

"Mary," she said a little stiffly. "Are you another doctor?"

"No, I'm with the FBI. Do you mind if I sit?"

"Not at all."

Dean pulled around a hard chair from the other side of the bed and sat down beside her. Her attention seemed locked on the window, and he looked out too to see what she was fixated on. Past the parking lot and yellow field of corn he could see a river winding its way along the horizon.

"Nice view," he said lamely.

She shrugged. "It's all I've got at the moment."

Dean wanted to jump right in with questions about the forgotten husband, but he was wary of overexciting her, so instead he asked, "Mrs. Roberts, do you mind talking about why you're in the hospital?"

She frowned. "They think I'm crazy."

"Who thinks you're crazy?"

"The doctors. My neighbors. The cops." She turned away from the window to look him in the eye. "I'm not crazy. They're the ones that are crazy"

"I don't think you are either," Dean said.

She narrowed her eyes. "Then why are you here?"

Dean had come up with his excuse for visiting on the way over, but it seemed feeble now in the face of the woman's situation. "I'm here about the deaths in town. Your assumed connection to the last victim is the only clue we have, so I thought it best to start with you."

She laughed harshly and shortly. "Assumed is the right word. I didn't know that man. I never met him before in my life. I don't know why they're saying he was my husband. I don't have a husband!"

"Did you ever marry?" Dean asked.

"No. Never. I have no need of a man dragging me down. Spinster they call me; Old Lady Roberts, the one that never caught a fella. Now they're saying I'm a widow and when I argued, they brought me here. They say I have amnesia, but don't you think, if I _was_ married, I'd at least remember something about it? A marriage worth of memories has to leave an impression." She looked annoyed. "They keep coming in with photos of this man and asking the same old questions—'Do you know who this is?' The pictures mean nothing to me. He's no one. I feel nothing."

"That must be very frustrating for you," Dean said.

"Yes. Frustrating. I just want to go home."

"And there's no possibility they're right?" Dean asked. "It really couldn't be amnesia of some sort?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I thought you said I wasn't crazy."

"Amnesia doesn't mean you're crazy."

Her color rose. "I don't have amnesia," she said slowly and bitterly. "I think you should leave."

Dean stood but hesitated. They'd told him not to excite her, but he had one last question. "Mrs. Roberts, one more thing and then I'll leave."

She scowled at him but didn't speak, so he thought it was okay to go on.

"If you're not married, why are you wearing a wedding ring?"

She looked down at the ring as if she'd never seen it before. Her face twisted with anger. "Get out!" she shrieked. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

Dean made for the door, almost colliding with the nurse who was running into the room. He dodged her and walked out into the hall. He was almost at the door when he heard a voice calling after him.

"Agent. Hey, Agent!"

He turned and saw the doctor he had spoken to earlier. He waited for him to catch up, bracing himself for a lecture on not heeding his warning.

"Agent, I specifically told you not to excite her," he said.

"I know," Dean said. "I apologize."

"I think you should leave."

"Already going," Dean said, then paused. "I have a question though. Have you ever seen amnesia so specific before?"

The doctor shook his head. "Never in my career. I've done a little research about it, too, consulted specialists in the field, and it's not happened in their experience either. It's like someone just came along and wiped every memory of her husband and created new ones to cover the gaps. I truly don't understand it."

"Thank you for your help," Dean said, pushing open the door and stepping through it. His mind was racing. Three dead John Does, another local man and a wife with a memory wiped and recreated without him. There was nothing natural about it.

* * *

Dean brought dinner back to the motel after his interview at the hospital, and they sat down to eat together while Dean told Sam about the amnesiac widow.

"So it wasn't until she saw the ring that she freaked," Sam said.

"Yeah. She was a little pissy before, understandable with what has happened to her, but it wasn't until she saw it that she flipped.

"And she has _no_ memory of being married at all?"

"None. The doctor said it was like nothing he'd ever seen or heard of before. I'm telling you, Sam, it's not natural."

"I agree," Sam said. "I've been looking it up, but there's nothing that explains it. Everything I see comes back to demonic possession, and they're only missing memories of the time they're actually possessed."

"And you've never seen it before?"

Sam shook his head.

"This isn't another 'make Dean a hunter' test?"

"No," Sam said honestly. "I've scoured Dad's journal, but there's nothing in there that sounds anything like this. I have no idea what's happening here."

Dean sighed. "Damn. I was kinda hoping it would be. What's the next step do you think?"

"I think we need outside help."

"Got someone in mind?"

Sam fought down a grimace. He didn't want to call this man. He was feeling more than a little bitter towards him thanks to that damn intervention. He shouldn't have been there. None of them should have really, but _he_ had even less right than the others. "I think we should call Bobby. He's the oldest hunter I know now, which means he's been in the life the longest. Maybe he's heard of something we haven't."

Dean looked pleased. "Yeah. That's a good idea. You want to call him or should I?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. Like he was going to make _that_ call.

"I'll do it," Dean said, sounding disappointed.

"Good. I've got to hit the head." He wiped his mouth with a balled up napkin and went into the bathroom while Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.

Sam shut the door behind him and leaned against the thin wood. He could hear everything in the room, including Dean's side of the phone call.

"Bobby, it's me. We've got a problem… No, we're okay, but we're on a case and we're all out of ideas. Okay… Well, there's this woman…"

Sam came out of the bathroom just as Dean ended the call and set his phone down on the table. He looked expectant and Dean said, "He's on his way. He'll be here by morning."

Awesome. Exactly what Sam needed—a visit with Bobby Singer. What was wrong with talking on the phone? "Did he say what we're dealing with?"

"No, I'm not sure he knows himself. He just said to stay the hell away from where the bodies are being found. Actually, his exact words were, 'keep your damned selves in the motel until I get there'."

Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line. He didn't like being ordered around by anyone.

"I think we should listen to him," Dean said. "He wouldn't say it if he wasn't worried."

"And any other people who happen to use that road tonight?" Sam asked. "We're supposed to let them take their chances?"

"I doubt there will be anyone hurt," Dean said. "The attacks have happened weeks apart, and the last was just a few days ago. Look, Sam, I know you don't like being told what to do, but Bobby's thinking of us on this. Just give it a night."

"Fine," Sam said bitterly. "I'll stay in like a good boy."

"Thanks," Dean said, sounding genuinely relieved. "He'll be here early, and we can get to work on taking care of whatever this is."

* * *

By the time Bobby arrived late the next afternoon, Sam was acting like a moody teenage grounded on prom night. Dean reacted by remaining as calm as possible while Sam stomped around the room. They'd had a vending machine breakfast and ordered in pizza for lunch, but Sam was vowing he was leaving for decent food if Bobby didn't arrive in the next hour.

Luckily, Bobby arrived before the allotted time was over, laden with books and a paper sack.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean greeted.

"Dean," Bobby said with a smile. "Sam."

Sam barely grunted in response, and Bobby's face fell. Things had seemed to be improving between them, but Dean suspected the ill-advised intervention had kicked that apart. It was a shame; Dean really wanted them to get along. They were two of the most important people in his life.

"You got a fugly for us?" Sam asked when Bobby had set down his books and bag and taken a seat at the table.

"I have," Bobby said, sounding satisfied. "You boys ever heard of a Muitsi?"

"A what?"

"Muitsi," Bobby said. "It's a Finnish origin monster, big on memories."

"How so?" Sam asked, ceasing his restless pacing and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"It literally takes the memories of a specific person when it kills, eats them in a way. The lore says _'It will take the life of those the heart is tied to'_. I think it means that literally take the memories of that life for their loved ones. I've never tangled with one before, but I've done my research."

"How do we kill it?" Sam asked.

"Hold up," Dean said. "You mean it literally wipes a lifetime of memories away?"

"Yeah. Nasty son of a bitch. It's like the widow you told me about. When the victim was killed, the memory of the woman he loved was wiped, too."

"The John Does," Dean breathed. "They're not being claimed because there's no one who remembers them.

"Exactly," Bobby said approvingly.

"Interesting as this is, how do we kill it?" Sam asked again.

Bobby sighed. "First step is to make it corporeal. In its natural form, it's like a ghost."

"How do we do that?" Dean asked.

"A spell. I've got the gear."

Sam scowled. "You a witch now, Bobby?"

"No," Bobby said patiently. "I'm a hunter. Sometimes we have to step out of our comfort zone to get the job done."

"Don't suppose there's a summoning spell or something we can do too, is there?" Dean asked hopefully. It was apparently easy enough to make the thing corporeal, but they had to find it first.

"No need. It's obviously tethered to this particular stretch of road. We don't need to be close to it for the spell to work. I've worked out the specifics already. I'll do the spell and you boys can get on with the killing. The lore says the brain must be destroyed, like a ghoul."

Sam nodded. "Okay. You set up what you need for the spell. I've got a few things to do in town. I'll be back soon."

"Things like what?" Dean asked.

"Things like things," Sam said briskly, pulling the door open. "Don't worry, I'll be careful."

The door swung closed behind him and Bobby said, "He's in a good mood."

"He was yesterday," Dean said a little sadly. "I don't know what's up with him."

"Could just be that I've arrived."

"I don't think so," Dean said. "He's just got a lot on his mind."

"He's not the only one. How're you doing?"

"I'm fine," Dean lied.

"Once more with feeling."

Dean shook his head. He should have known better than to try to lie to Bobby; he always knew. Truth was, Dean wasn't fine. He was tired. His dreams were all nightmares now, nightmares about the deal and Sam. It wasn't what was going to happen to _him_ that kept him awake; it was Sam. He would see him as he had been when Dean had found him again—hard and closed off. He saw Ellen calling only to reach voicemail. He saw Jo crying. Ash drinking. He saw Sam standing over Dean's pyre then driving away never to be seen by anyone who loved him again.

A psychologist would probably put it down to his lack of control in the situation. He wouldn't be there to help Sam, not that he ever really had been. He was afraid of Hell, anyone would be, but he was more afraid of his brother and what he was going to become if he failed. He knew it was displacement. He was focusing on Sam's instead of his own future. It was easier. He just wished there was a way to make it okay for Sam before he went. That would make it easier. It would give him a little peace to cling to when he was in Hell.

"I'm not okay," he admitted eventually.

"No," Bobby said soberly. "I don't suppose you are." He looked awkward. "How's Sam's plan to break the deal going?"

Dean shook his head. "Not well. We thought we were onto something, but nothing's come of it for a while. We need a demon, and we can't get one."

"What about a crossroads?" Bobby asked.

"We can't. We met this guy Crowley. He made it clear that if we went poking around his crossroads it could cost both our lives."

Bobby nodded. "I'm glad you listened. But, Dean, what does this mean?"

Dean shrugged. "I've not given up hope, but I'm…"

"You're what?"

Dean's eyes widened. He had an idea. His greatest fear was what would come after for Sam, not just him, Bobby, Sonny, Ellen, Jo and Ash. All the people he cared about… All the people his heart was tied to.

"Oh!" he gasped.

"Oh, what?" Bobby asked, sounding suspicious now. "What are you thinking, Dean?"

"Nothing," Dean said quickly.

"Last time you looked at me like that you'd just made the deal to save Sam. You can't do that again, so I want to know what the hell you're thinking this time."

Dean was silent for a moment, deep in thought. He thought Bobby of all people would understand. He knew what it had done to Dean to be parted from Sam for so long. He wouldn't want Sam to suffer again, too.

"I think I know what to do," he said.

"About?"

"Sammy. All of you. The Muitsi. This would make it easy." Sure he would die a few months early, but since he was heading there anyway, did it really matter?

"You thinking of letting it get you, aren't you?" Bobby sucked in a breath. "You damned fool! Do you have so little regard for your own life? For ours?"

"But, Bobby, this'll stop any of you remembering."

"And you think that's your right to decide? You'll let some fugly wipe our memories, violating us? What makes you think that's okay on any level? It's our right to feel, Dean. You don't get to take that away from us." He looked like he was going to throw a punch. "How dare you!"

"I'm thinking _of_ you," Dean said obstinately.

Bobby looked set to answer but at the moment the door opened and Sam came in. He looked from Dean to Bobby where they stood facing off against each other. "What's going on?"

Dean knew, _knew,_ Bobby was going to do it. He was going to tell Sam everything he'd said, and Sam would never forgive him for even thinking it. The only way this would have worked was if Dean had done it all before Sam could stop him.

"Bobby, no, please," he begged.

"Sorry, "Dean," Bobby replied without even looking at him. His gaze was fixed on Sam. "Dean has had an idea. He thinks he should let the Muitsi get him, making us forget him."

Sam's eyes widened and his expression darkened. Dean almost wished for the mask. Sam had never looked at him like this, never with such fury and… could it be hatred. "Why?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"It would be better like this," Dean said plaintively. "This would save you from what comes after, don't you see?"

Sam took a measured breath and said, "Do you not listen to me at all? I _will_ save you. I _will_ break this deal and you'll be fine. How am I supposed to do that if you're already in Hell?"

Dean smiled sadly. "Sammy, I don't think you can save me. I think it's too late."

Sam closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then took one step forward and struck out with a clenched fist. Dean fell back onto the bed, bouncing once as his eyes blurred and consciousness deserted him.

* * *

"Was that really necessary?" Bobby asked.

Sam didn't answer. He stood massaging his knuckles and trying to calm himself.

"Sam!" Bobby snapped.

Sam turned his furious glare on him. "Do the spell. Make it corporeal."

"Don't you think you should wait for him?" he gestured to Dean.

"No," Sam said curtly. "I'm not letting him anywhere near that thing. Not if he's preparing to launch himself off the cliff."

"Sam," Bobby said, conciliatory and understanding, "you know he's not thinking of it like that."

"I don't care what he's thinking," Sam said. "He's not going to have a chance to do that to us. It's not his right to choose, and he's not cheating me out of saving him."

"Okay," Bobby said. "All right. I'll do the spell. But for God's sake, Sam, be careful."

"I always am," Sam said making for the door. Just as it closed behind him, he heard Bobby said, "No, you're really not."

Sam drove fast to the stretch of road the Muitsi was haunting. His anger was still raging within him, but he tried to tamp it down for the sake of doing the job. When he got there, he pulled over at the viewing point and climbed out. He paced up and down beside the car for a while, and then directed his steps to the road itself. He had the colt tucked into his jacket, and he was ready for the shot. He wanted to take the thing out before it could pose any further temptation to his brother.

His thoughts traveled to the night in that Wyoming cemetery. He'd had no idea that killing the demon would end in this nightmare. He never imagined Dean would make the deal. He should have left well enough alone. Sam was dead. The world was better. Dean had ruined that, and now he was giving up. Sam had promised him he would save him, but Dean apparently didn't believe in him. How could Sam bear that? He couldn't.

He knew what he had to do.

It was on his second pass that he felt it happen, the spell. It was like a warm rush of air sweeping over him. He spun on his heel and stared up and down the road, searching for a sign of the monster. There was nothing, no one else there at first, and then he sensed the presence behind him.

"Hunter," a crooning voice said.

Sam turned. "Monster."

It looked like a man, with shoulder length, blond hair. It was dressed simply in a blue shirt and jeans.

"Not a monster."

"I have a few dead people and mind fucked families who would disagree," Sam said.

"I do what I have to do to survive."

"So do I," Sam said, pulling the colt.

The Muitsi took a step back. "No! Don't!"

Sam didn't even bother to reply. He lined up the shot carefully between the creature's eyes and pulled the trigger. The Muitsi fell back, arms flung out at its sides. Sam watched it fall, feeling the overwhelming relief of the job finished and Dean stopped.

He let out a breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding, and then bent and hefted the body over his shoulder. He couldn't leave it for people to find. Who knew how human it looked on the inside. He carried it back to the car and dumped it in the trunk. He and Dean would take it somewhere quiet and burn it.

He slammed the trunk and leaned against it for a moment, weighing up the cost of what he was going to do next.

It was worth it.

He scrolled through his contacts and then pressed dial. The call was answered quickly, as if it was expected. Before a word was spoken on the other end, Sam said, "It's me. We need to meet. I'm ready."

* * *

 **So… I think Dean's plan was Only a few more chapters to go now peeps. Buckle in and enjoy the ride.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing. Also thanks to SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all the help and support.**

 **Because I love you all—and because I need some love in return from the people that are suffering as much as me after the midseason finale—I am updating a little early. Enjoy xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Three**_

Sam drove along the cracked asphalt lane that had once been a busy working road serving the warehouse. The car bumped and jostled as did his mind with questions and worries.

 _Are you really going to do this?_

I don't have a choice.

 _What would Dean say?_

Dean doesn't have a say in it.

 _This is his life._

Exactly. His _life_.

 _He'll never forgive you for this._

It doesn't matter. He'll be alive and that's what matters.

He pulled to a stop but didn't climb out straight away. He sat with his arms folded over the steering wheel and his head bowed. He wasn't thinking about himself or what this meant for him; he was thinking of Dean and his damned defeatism. The fact he had been willing to give himself up months early, to erase himself from Sam's life, made his anger burn the way it hadn't since Yellow-Eyes.

It had been a week since they'd faced the Muitsi, a week of awkward silences and Sam walking out of the room whenever Dean tried to talk about it. The bruise Sam had given him was yellowing now, and it stood out like an accusation against Sam. It was just more proof of how Sam had damaged his brother, as if more was needed.

Dean didn't ask where Sam was going that night when he'd grabbed his jacket and keys and left through the kitchen. Sam wouldn't have told him anyway; he would have lied as easily as breathing because that was what he did. He lied, he hid things, and he betrayed.

This betrayal was right though.

Tugging his jacket around him to offset the cold wind, he climbed out of the car and walked toward the warehouse. There was no one else in sight, but he knew she was there. He could feel her presence like laughter on the wind.

He pulled open the door and went into the cavernous room. He glanced around, searching for a sign of her, and then said loudly, "Come on. I'm not in the mood for games tonight."

"Point of curiosity, are you ever in the mood?" She stepped around one of the abandoned machines, her blonde hair swaying as she swung her hips towards him.

"Ruby," Sam said stiffly.

"Sam." She came to a stop six feet away from him. "Did you bring the knife?"

"I told you I wouldn't. Do you want to pat me down?"

"Wrong brother," she said. "No, I'll trust you, but I'll keep my distance anyway."

Sam nodded. "Works for me, too."

She raised an eyebrow. "You too good to be close to me? _You_ called _me_ , remember."

Because he'd had no choice. He would happily shove the demon knife, which was stowed under his pillow at The Roadhouse, through her throat. He needed her though.

"You called because you finally got clued in on the facts," she said. "About damn time. You're cutting it a bit fine, Sam."

"I have time," Sam said. "And I'm here now."

"Yes you are. And we both know why."

"I need a demon," Sam said. "I need you to get me one."

She shook her head and laughed. "That's not why you called, Sam. We both know you need much more than a demon to practice on. You don't have time to play around anymore. You need help only I can give. You need the blood."

Sam fought back a shudder. She was right. That was why he was here, but to admit it to himself and to hear it said aloud were two different very things.

"I need you to make the potion, too." He ground out the words between clenched teeth.

She grinned. "You really don't. The potion was nothing. Just a little water and a few ingredients off a spice rack. The blood is what mattered. I just thought the other crap would make it a little more palatable for you."

"So I don't need you at all," Sam said.

"Oh but you do. You need me to find you a demon. I've been watching, Sam. You and Dean have been chasing your tails across the country trying to find one to play with, and you've come up empty every time. It's like someone told them to stay out of your way…"

"Demons wouldn't listen to you."

"No, but they will listen to the boss."

"Lilith?"

"The very demon. She heard what you were doing and she didn't like it. The last thing she wants is you building the muscles to use against her. There's an APB out saying keep away from the Winchesters. Lucky for you, there's nothing telling them to keep away from me. I can deliver them to you, Sam."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Why would you do that?"

She sighed, exasperated. "How many times? I care. Not about you. You can jump into a volcano as far as I'm concerned. But Dean… I care about him. He matters to me. I don't want to see him torn apart and dragged to the pit."

Sam did shudder this time. The mental picture she created was powerful.

"I've been trying to help all along," she went on. "It's not my fault you didn't like the method. Finally, you've pulled your head out of your ass to see that. By the way, what made you change your mind? You finally check your calendar and see the date approaching?"

Sam shook his head. "Dean's given up. He doesn't believe I can save him anymore. I realized he's probably right unless I do this. I wasted so much time."

"Yeah, you did," she said. "Never mind. We still have time to do it. We can save him."

" _I_ can save him," Sam corrected. "You will stay the hell away from him."

"Might be a little difficult, don't you think? I'll have to be around for this, and the pair of you are joined at the hip."

"Not anymore. Dean isn't coming close to this."

"You'll lie to him?"

"I'll save him," Sam said doggedly.

"When he find out, he'll—"

"He'll be alive. Nothing else matters but that. Nothing." Especially not Sam. "So, hand it over."

"You think I came with a bloody juice box ready for you?"

"I know you did. You knew as soon as you got my call what I needed."

"Okay, you got me," she said with a laugh. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver flask. "No added ingredients this time. You're going to taste it."

"Not a problem," Sam said.

"Here, catch." She tossed the over the flask. Sam caught it and flipped open the cap. His heart was in his throat, whether from fear or anticipation he wasn't sure. This was going to be it, Dean's salvation, but it was also his curse. He was adding to what Yellow-Eyes had given him, making himself less than human.

It was worth the cost.

He brought the flask to his lips and tilted it back. The liquid trickled into his mouth, and his gag reflex rebelled against it. He took a breath, mastered control of himself, and swallowed. His stomach rolled and a shiver swept through him, and then something incredible happened. His whole body jolted. It was as if he'd been holding his breath too long and had just now let it go. It was as if he was parched and had been given a cup of cool water. It was like something in him had been missing and was now returned.

He felt empowered and eager. He thought he could yank a demon out of its meat suit now without even breaking a sweat. He wanted to try. He looked at Ruby. Perhaps…

"Nice idea, dumbass," she scathingly. "You pull me and who's going to bring you demons to practice on?"

He wanted to try…

"Give me a few hours and I'll have something for you."

Sam nodded. "Okay. I can wait."

"You really don't have a choice."

* * *

Two hours later, Ruby and Sam wrestled the crossroads demon into the trap Sam had painted on the floor. It was in the meat suit of a young man, black-haired and tall. He struggled and fought, but also laughed.

"You're going to die for this," he said happily. "We all know the boss warned you off."

"That would be a problem if I gave a shit," Sam said. "Lucky for me, I don't."

Ruby laughed. "Sam, you've loosened up. I like it."

Sam ignored her and stepped back. He wanted to start already. He wanted to do it.

"Well," Ruby said, "what are you waiting for?"

"Nothing," Sam said, fixing his eyes on the demon and raising his arm. "Nothing at all."

He drew a deep breath, feeling the power surging through him. He could do this. He knew it. He clenched his fist and focused.

He thought it would be easy; it felt like it should be easy. It wasn't. As soon as he imagined the smoke in his grasp, his skull cracked open. At least that was how it felt. He dropped like a stone onto the concrete floor, unable to even attempt to break his fall. He closed his eyes and just lay there as the waves of pain swept though him.

An indeterminable time later, he struggled to his feet, swaying slightly. The demon was doubled over, laughing hard.

"Why didn't it work?" Sam asked Ruby in a low voice.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because it was your first try in months, and you only took a sip."

"I drank what you gave me."

"Which was a sip. You can't beer bong this stuff, Sam. You have to take it slow and steady, build yourself up. You need to train your body and brain. It's going to take time."

"I don't have time," Sam growled. "Dean doesn't have time."

"You're right. We should give up now." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "I mean, you've given it all of one try."

Sam glowered at her. "I _need_ this to work."

"And it will. Have a little faith," she paused, "and a little patience. You can do this, but you've got to work on it. Doing this puts a massive amount of strain on you—as you may have realized what with you ending up on the floor and all. You need to ease yourself back into it."

"I'm trying again," Sam said.

"Good for you," she said approvingly. "Right back on the horse."

Sam braced himself, raised his hand, and tried again.

* * *

Dean was lying awake in his bed, waiting for Sam to come back.

It was early morning before the door creaked open and Sam came in. Dean rolled over and clicked on the light, and then jerked upright. "Sam? What the hell happened?"

Sam frowned, looking genuinely confused. "Huh?"

There was a red welt on his cheek and his eyes were red-rimmed. More than that was the way he was walking, staggering really, across the room.

"You look like hell," Dean said.

Sam shrugged. "Rough night. Got in a bar fight across town. Guess one of them got in a lucky punch."

"Why did you go into town?" Dean asked. "You do realize we live in a bar, right?"

"Needed space," Sam said curtly. He flopped down on his bed, fully dressed with boots on.

"Sam," Dean said sadly.

"Go to sleep, Dean."

"We need to talk."

"I'm tired."

"Sam, please."

Sam rolled over, turning his back on Dean. "Go to sleep, Dean."

Dean threw himself back against his pillow, feeling both sad and irritated. He knew Sam was struggling with what was coming and he was angry, but if Dean didn't do something, their last months were going to be spent in virtual silence. He couldn't bear that. He needed his brother.

He didn't get much rest that night, though Sam's breaths became steady sighs of sleep soon after he'd spoken. He lay awake listening to the sound and trying to puzzle out some way to help. By dawn he was exhausted and still without a clue as to what he was going to do. He just knew he had to do something.

* * *

Weeks passed and the residents of The Roadhouse noticed the difference in Sam. It was discussed in whispers at the bar, in the kitchen, in the night when he disappeared.

The one good thing was that he started to look better physically. The bruise he explained away as a bar fight faded to nothing. However, worry about his physical health was soon replaced with worry about his changed attitude. He was quiet all the time, his attention never fully on the person he was talking to at the time. He never seemed to be completely with them now.

Dean knew Ellen was worried, but he didn't know what to say to reassure her as there was nothing anyone could say to reassure him. The very real fear that Sam was slipping away from them was there constantly. And Dean thought it was his fault. Things were never the same after Dean confessed that he didn't believe he could be saved. He had ruined Sam.

One night, a full month after the Muitsi, Dean decided enough was enough. He was going to talk to Sam. He knew it was a risk, Sam wouldn't want to talk, but he didn't think he could drive him away further, so he took the chance. He didn't want to have the conversation in The Roadhouse, where there was always a chance they would be interrupted, so he asked Ash to track him down one night at whatever bar Sam had gone to.

That was the first revelation.

Sam wasn't in a bar.

He knew what was happening even before he reached the warehouse. Sam was training again. What he didn't know was who was helping him. That question was answered the moment he got into view of the warehouse and saw the Mustang parked beside the Impala.

Ruby was back.

* * *

"Come on, come on," Ruby chanted. "You can do it."

Sam nodded and gripped the smoke harder. He drew it up the demon's body to its mouth, and with one last yank and spike of pain in his head, he pulled it out. He unclenched his hand and let the smoke pour free, though the concrete floor back to the Pit as the meat suit dropped.

Ruby slapped him on the back. "Nice work, Sam."

"Don't touch me," Sam said automatically, jerking away with a scowl.

"Let me get this straight," she said. "You're too good for me to touch you, but not too good to suck down my blood."

"Yes. That's exactly it."

Sam crossed into the devil's trap and pressed his fingers to the throat of the woman the demon had been riding. There was no pulse. He cursed. "What is it with you demons?" he asked. "Do you get a kick out of ruining lives?"

"One, I am not like other demons. And two, yes."

"Assholes."

"Agreed." She ran a hand through her blonde hair. "That's me done for the night. I'll dump the meat suit somewhere it'll be found and be back in a day or two with another pet for you to practice on."

"Sounds good," Sam said.

Sam lifted the body from the devil's trap and handed it over to Ruby. She smiled and said, "Pleasure working with you," just before she disappeared through the door.

Sam was massaging his temples, thinking of his bed and painkillers and a belt of whiskey, when he heard the voice outside and his heart sank. "Hello, Ruby."

Dean.

He made for the door, but Dean was already coming in. Ruby glanced at him over Dean's shoulder, lifted her shoulder in a shrug, and then headed for her car with the body in her arms.

Sam expected Dean to be concerned, frustrated, maybe even pissed, but he was none of those things. He just looked sad—so sad. There was no way he didn't know what Sam was doing and why, so why did he look like someone had shot his puppy?

"Sam," he said plaintively. "What are you doing?"

Sam gestured to the devil's trap. "That should be pretty obvious. I'm finding a way to save your life."

"Are you drinking the blood?" Dean asked.

"I think you already know the answer to that."

Dean bowed his head. Sam thought maybe he was fighting tears. "Dammit, Sam," he breathed. "Why would you do that?"

Sam felt a surge of annoyance. "Because that's what it's going to take to save you. Because I have no choice. Because if I don't do this, you're going to Hell."

"Not like this. Not by drinking that… stuff. I don't want that."

"That's the funny thing," Sam said. "I don't remember asking you. This is what it's going to take, so this is what I'm going to do. You don't get a say in it."

"It's my life you're trying to save," Dean said angrily.

"And it was mine that you saved before!" Sam shouted in return. "You made the deal. You dragged me back. I am fixing that mess the only way I can because I have no choice!" He drew a deep breath. "You couldn't let me stay dead, and I can't let you go to hell. You of all people must understand that."

"But look what you're doing to yourself," Dean growled. "You're…"

"Making myself a monster?" Sam asked. "I know. Turning myself into something you'll be compelled to hunt? I'm aware. But I have _no_ choice!"

"You have a choice," Dean said. "Let me go."

"Like you let me go? No. Not happening."

Dean's hands clenched into fists. "Dammit, Sam! Don't do this."

"It's too late. Don't you see that? I'm too far gone already. I am going to kill Lilith. I will break your deal, and it will be over."

"And what happens to you after?" Dean asked.

Sam stared him in the eye. "You already know the answer to that, too."

Dean shook his head jerkily. "No! You can't!"

"You're right," Sam said. "I can't. I won't be able to. You'll do it. You'll have no choice. I am giving you no choice."

"You can't do that to me! You can't expect that of me."

"You will owe it to me," Sam said. "Once I have saved you, you'll owe me." He threw the Impala keys at Dean's feet. "Take the car. I need to walk."

"Don't walk away, Sam! We need to talk about this."

"No," Sam said. " _You_ need to talk about it. I have nothing left to say."

* * *

 **So… We're coming down to it now. Only two more chapters to go.**

 **I mean it when I say I need the love. I have spent the day on and off crying. I am an emotional wreck. Please help a grieving writer out with some support.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**

 **P.S. Sorry Sammy was a dick in this one. He leads me not the other way around.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Squishy hugs to Jenjoremy for beta'ing, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for pre-reading and to all of you for the supportive PMs and reviews for the last chapter. You guys really came through and I appreciate it more than I can say.**

 **You may have already seen but I started posting a post 11.09 story last week. There is one chapter posted and I am working on the next right now. It's called To Not Fade Away and it's on my profile if you're interested.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Four**_

Dean jerked awake in the middle of the night. He looked around the empty room, unsure of what had woken him at first, and then he heard something—the scrape of a chair and chink of a glass being set down on a table.

 _Sam!_

Sam had been largely absent from The Roadhouse for the past six weeks. He would come and go, disappearing for days at a time, chasing down his demons. Ellen and the others didn't know what he was doing. When they questioned Sam, he shrugged them off or ignored them until they went away. Dean was the only one who knew the truth. When he was asked about it, he gave a vague version of the truth—Sam was looking for a way to break the deal. He didn't give details. None of them asked why he wasn't a part of the search. They already knew the answer. Sam didn't want him there. Sam didn't want any of them there anymore. He had closed down again, hardened, quiet and thoughtful, and Dean was the only one who knew why. He was the only one who knew just how successfully he had ruined his brother. They didn't know what Sam had done to himself or what he expected of Dean, and they could never know. It would ruin them.

He heard the clink of glass against glass, and he guessed Sam was refilling his drink. He sat for a moment in bed, wondering whether he should just lie down again and go back to sleep, but he needed to speak to Sam. Perhaps if he was drunk enough, he would let Dean get more than a dozen words out before walking away from him. It had to be worth a try. The only way Sam could be more distant was if he left altogether.

He got out of bed and pulled on a shirt to stave off the early morning chill before walking slowly through the hall and into the bar.

The lights weren't on in the room; all Dean could see was a silhouette of a man, but he knew at once it wasn't Sam. It was too broad across the shoulders and the hair was too short.

"Sorry, buddy," he said, flipping the switch and flooding the room with light, "we're closed."

"This place was never closed for me."

Dean's heart leapt in his chest. He knew that voice. He knew that man. But how could it be?

The man turned slowly, achingly slowly, revealing his familiar features an inch at a time. When he was fully facing Dean, he smiled. "Hello, son."

"Dad?"

Dean moved forward in a daze, stepping into John's open arms and reaching around him to return the offered embrace. John held him long and tight, and Dean relished it. He was warm and he smelled of leather and whiskey; his grip was strong. It felt so real.

It couldn't be real.

He pulled free of his father's embrace and stepped back. "How? I saw you…. Sam told me…"

"He told you I died? I did, and you know where I wound up. But you also saw me claw my way out."

"So you're alive?"

He shook his head. "No, Dean. I'm not alive."

Dean's heart sank. "I'm dreaming."

"No, not dreaming."

"Then how are you here?" he asked in confusion.

"I'm here because I have a job to do, just like you do."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands hard. He felt the pain, adding credence to the fact he was awake. "Dad, I don't understand."

"I know you don't. Not yet anyway. You will. Come with me." John made for the door.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked.

"I need to show you something."

Dean hesitated, the first flicker of nervousness working through him. "What are you going to show me?"

"The things you left behind," John said cryptically, moving to the door. "Are you going to come?"

Dean stepped forward on leaden feet. He was afraid and he didn't want to see whatever it was John wanted to show him. He was sure it wasn't going to be a good experience, but he couldn't bear for his father to leave him already. He had so many questions and things he wanted to say still.

John pushed open the door. Bright white light spilled through the opening and he stepped into it, disappearing.

"Dad!" Dean shouted, rushing forward.

"I'm right here, son," John replied. "Come and see."

Dean took a breath and walked into the light.

* * *

They were outside Sonny's place. The Impala was parked crookedly in front of the steps and sitting in the back seat, small, young and just as Dean remembered him, was… "Sammy."

"Yep, there he is," John said. "Sammy."

Dean crossed to the window and made to open the door. He wasn't sure what he intended to do, but he just knew he needed to be close, but…

"He can't see you. We're not really here."

Dean rounded on him. "What is this?"

"Look, Dean. Pay attention to something other than your brother for once."

Dean scowled at him but he obeyed and looked around, seeing the others at the scene for the first time. There was John beside him, and another, younger version, standing toe-to-toe with Sonny on the porch. The younger John was speaking. "Well I'm sorry I wasn't here to hold his hand, but I was going after a scary ass monster at the time, saving other people's lives. Rugaru, nasty son of a bitch, would eat you alive, literally."

"You're crazy," Sonny said.

"No, you're ignorant. Now, get me my damned son so I can get out of here."

Dean turned back to John. "This is the night of the dance, when you came back for me. When you left me."

John nodded somberly. "The night I got scared away."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Because this is where it all started. You need to see so you can understand."

"Understand what?" Dean asked bitterly. "Why you thought it was okay to abandon me?"

"No, why me abandoning you was the very best thing I ever did for you."

The John of '95 was walking away from Sonny to the car. He threw himself in behind the wheel and a moment later roared away from the farm and toward the road.

"That's the best thing you ever did for me?" Dean asked angrily, remembering the hurt he had felt when he'd heard that John had left without him.

"Yes. It was the one of best decisions I ever made in my life. It was also one of the only selfless decisions I made."

"Selfless?" Dean scoffed. "You left me in a foster home and that's a good thing?"

"It was the best thing for you." John glanced at Sonny where he stood on the porch, his eyes wide and his expression horrorstruck. "I think we've seen enough here."

"No," Dean said. "We're staying and you're going to explain to me how leaving me like that was the best thing you did."

"I can't explain it," his father replied quietly. "But I can show you. Come with me."

He walked up the steps to the front door, past Sonny who was still looking stunned at the turn of events, and opened it. The bright light spilled out again and he disappeared into it. Dean jogged after him, not prepared to lose his father until he had some answers.

* * *

When the light faded, Dean looked around and saw they were in an alley. There were a couple of dumpsters with cardboard boxes stacked beside them.

"Here?" Dean asked. "This is where you choose to talk to me? Is this making a point about what trash my life is?"

"Not at all. This is where he'll come. Look."

Dean looked around and saw an unfamiliar man leaning against the wall behind him. At odds with the filth of the alley, he looked smart. His clothes were pressed and his hair groomed. He seemed to be waiting for something. That something arrived a moment later. A kid in scruffy, dirty clothes appeared at the mouth of the alley, and after looking up and down twice, he walked forward towards the other man.

"Recognize him?" John asked.

Dean shook his head. "I've never seen him…" He looked again. The kid had the gaunt skin and hollowed eyes of a drug user, an addict. His hands were shaking and his eyes roved up and down the alley, passing by John and Dean but not seeing them. His appearance was shocking, not only because of the state he was in, but because Dean did recognize him. He looked so different than the way Dean had last seen him, when his clear eyes had blazed with anger, but it was him: Mitch. He was maybe a couple years older than the version currently living with Sonny, but still young all the same.

"Do you have the money?" the groomed man asked.

Mitch nodded. "All I could get."

"Then I suppose you will get all you can afford."

Mitch held out wad of bills and the man counted them. "Not bad. Roll another grocery store?"

Mitch didn't answer.

The man slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag filled with white powder.

"Mitch! No!" Dean shouted, trying to swipe the bag from the man's hand. He moved through him like he was made of smoke.

"You can't do anything, Dean," John said sympathetically.

The man handed it to Mitch who looked at it hungrily but with disappointment. "Is that all?"

"Prices went up. You know how the economy is these days."

Mitch shuddered. "It's okay. It'll be okay." He seemed to be talking to himself.

"I think so, too," the man said. "I'll see you in a few days. You take care now. Don't overdose."

"Seen enough?" John asked.

"No," Dean said. "I don't understand."

"You will. Come on."

* * *

They were in a bedroom. The walls were painted lilac and the bedspread matched the curtains. Dotted around were clothes and CDs. Music was playing on the stereo, a melancholy song Dean didn't recognize but felt resonate with him.

The door opened and a young girl walked in. Her face was a familiar picture of misery. Dean knew her, and he knew that expression, as he had seen it in the flesh.

"Bethany," he whispered.

"Oh good, you remember," John said.

It was impossible to forget her. She had also been one of Dean's kids. She'd come across his caseload as a sexually abused girl with suicidal ideation after suffering abuse at the hands of her stepfather. She'd been removed from the home and placed into foster care after she'd confessed to Dean what was happening to her. She was the girl Dean had spent hours with, talking her down from the metaphorical cliff. She'd been prepared to end it all that day, and Dean had saved her. She'd gone home and survived day after day until the court had finally sent her stepfather to jail. She wrote to Dean after, thanking him. She was in college now.

"What's happened to her?" Dean asked.

"No one saved her," John said sadly.

"You're wrong. _I_ saved her."

"Not this time."

As they watched, Bethany opened a drawer of her dresser and pulled out a large bottle of Tylenol. She took a bottle of water and sat cross-legged on the bed.

"No," Dean moaned. "I _saved_ her."

She opened the bottle of pills and tipped them onto her bed. She swallowed the first two with a grimace and then reached for more.

"I think we've seen enough here," John said.

"I have to help her," Dean said.

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because this isn't your life."

* * *

They came to another girl's bedroom this time, but the differences were stark. It looked as though it had once been as neat as Bethany's, but it hadn't been tended to in a long time. It smelled of urine and neglect. The only clue to the occupant was a peeling decal on the wall above the bed that said, 'Gracie'.

"Oh god," Dean moaned. "Not them, too."

"They're alive," John said. "For now."

The door open and two girls came in. Katie and Gracie. Katie had her arm around her sister, and Gracie was crying quietly with her hands covering her face.

"Why'd you have to make her mad?" Katie was saying.

"I didn't mean to," Gracie sniffled. "I was just so hungry."

"I'd have sneaked you something. You just had to wait till she was asleep."

"I couldn't wait. I was so hungry."

"You were being punished. You know you can't eat when you're being punished."

Gracie lowered her hands and Dean saw the red welt on her face in the perfect shape of a hand. Someone had slapped her.

"I'm sorry," Gracie said miserably. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

Katie wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged her tight. "You didn't make me mad. You can't. You're the only one that can't." She released her. "Let's get you something cold for your face."

"This is sick," Dean said. "Why would you show me this stuff?"

"Because I need you to see. You have to understand the power you have."

Dean shook his head, wishing he was numb. It hurt too much to see all this. The kids he'd helped, saved, being ruined. Why hadn't he been there?

"Are we done now?" he asked, a hint of hopefulness in his voice. "Can we stop?"

"Soon," John promised. "Just a little more."

* * *

They were back at Sonny's, but the place was markedly changed. The paint on the barn was peeling away, the tended fields and vegetable patches were given over to grass and weeds. The shutters by the windows hung loose and the porch steps were rotting. The most marked change in the place was the man sitting on the rotting steps. Sonny. His hair was loose and needed combing and his moustache had become a scraggly beard. In his hands was a bottle of whiskey.

"But… soda," Dean said dumbly.

John laughed bitterly. "Not for him. Not anymore. Sonny has new drink of choice now."

"What the hell happened to him?" Dean asked.

"It's what didn't happen that matters. He got jaded to the life of the kids he was helping. No matter how many passed through his hands, there were always more to take their place. They grew up and left him or went back to their families, and the cycle continued. He was sick of it. Then you came."

"What did I do?" Dean asked.

"You succeeded," John said. "You came so full of fire and anger and promise. He saw that he might actually be able to _really_ help someone for once. He could help you make something of your life."

"He did," Dean said. "He helped me. He _saved_ me."

"Exactly," John said, satisfied. "Now you see. There's one more place we have to go, and then we'll be done. Can you handle one more?"

Dean nodded stiffly. "One more I can do."

"Good. Brace yourself, Dean. This one will be the hardest."

* * *

The demon was just another stolen face with black eyes, but the man was achingly familiar. He looked so wrong. His once broad shoulders were slumped and his eyes in their deep sockets were empty of any emotion. His skin was grey and his whole body shook.

"Sammy?" Dean said.

John nodded stiffly. "It's him."

"What the hell happened to him?"

"What do you think?" John asked.

Dean shook his head, unwilling to answer.

Sam hugged his shaking arms around himself. "You have what I need?"

"Don't I always?" the demon asked in return. "Not like I can ever run out."

"Give it to me."

"Patience, grasshopper. First you need to hand it over."

"Why do you want it?" Sam asked. "It's no use to you."

"No, but it matters to you. This is one of the few pleasures I have, Sam, taking what you cling to. We have our deal. I provide and you don't send me back. This is my added bonus."

Sam reached into the pocket of his too large jacket and pulled out John Winchester's journal. He held it against his chest for a moment then slowly held it out to the demon who snatched it and flipped it open. "What was in Missouri?" he asked curiously.

Sam shook his head. "Not your business. Give me what I need."

The demon sighed heavily. "Fine. Ring the bell, Sam, it's dinner time."

Sam lurched toward him and pulled a knife from his pocket. The demon held out his wrist and Sam cut it open.

"Sam, no!" Dean gasped.

It was too late. He couldn't hear him anyway. Sam bowed his head over the demon's wrist and sucked at the blood. Dean gagged as he slurped and swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing. "I can't watch this," he said, turning away.

"I think you've seen enough anyway," John said, sounding disgusted. "I know I have."

He turned and walked to a door, and Dean practically ran after him. When the bright white light spilled forth, Dean threw himself into it without thought. He had to get away.

* * *

John led him to Sam's preferred table in the corner of The Roadhouse and pushed him into a chair then walked away. When he came back he had a clean glass in his hand. He poured Dean a measure of whiskey and slid it across the table to him.

Dean took a sip, feeling the burn washing away the bile in his throat. "Thanks," he said.

"You needed it," John stated.

"I did," Dean agreed. "What I didn't need was what you just put me through. I didn't need to see all that."

"Yes, you did," John replied without heat.

"Why did you do it?"

"Because it was necessary." He sighed heavily. "Do you understand what it was I showed you?"

"It was some kind of hell."

"No. That's still to come, son. Well, it could come. That's why I am here."

"To show me that crap or to save me?"

"Both. One is dependent on the other. That was the fallout of a different path, Dean. That was your life as a hunter. That was what would have happened had I made the mistake of taking you away from Sonny."

Dean frowned. "Mistake?"

"Yes, mistake. I knew that night I was leaving you to a better life. It's not the only reason I ran, there were other factors, but that was a part of it, an important part. If you'd gone with me that night, if I'd waited, you would have joined the life for good, and you'd never have been there to save those poor kids. You know it as well as I do."

"I'd have still been saving people though," Dean said.

"Not the same way. Not the people that _really_ needed you. You have a gift, Dean. I only showed you some of them, your greatest successes. There were many more."

"I don't understand," Dean said. "What about Sam? It doesn't make sense. If I wasn't a social worker, I would have been with him. He wouldn't have turned into… that."

"That was different," John admitted. "That's not what would have happened if you chose the different path. That's the path Sam is on right now. I thought you should see what will become of him if we don't step in now."

"I've tried," Dean said hopelessly. "He won't listen. He's determined. And he thinks…"

"He thinks you can kill him."

"Yeah. I can't do that, Dad. How could I ever?"

John drew a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. "What if I told you there was a way to save you both? Sam from the blood and you from Hell?"

Dean's eyes widened. "There is?"

John nodded slowly. "It's not going to be easy, but it's possible."

"Whatever I have to do," Dean said. He would give up anything, be anything, if it would save Sam from that fate. His strong, powerful, live saving brother couldn't end up like that. It would be a tragedy. He still had so much to give the world. "I'll do anything."

"Including let him go?" John asked.

"What? I don't understand."

"There's a way," John said again. "It will save you both. But we have to break the deal. You have to let your brother go."

Dean pulled back, stunned. "I can't do that!"

"You can. You did it once. After you sent that last birthday card, you gave up hope and let him go. You need to do the same again. Son, this is saving him."

"How does it save him?" Dean asked.

"Heaven," John said simply. "Heaven is his salvation."

"No!"

"Yes. You have seen what I can do, and that's just the slightest sign of my power."

"You're not my father, are you?"

He looked apologetic. "Not in the strictest sense of the word, no. I am far more powerful that he ever was. I can use that power to save you, but it will cost you your brother."

"Why?"

"I can break the deal. I am strong enough for that. I can protect you, but I can't protect Sam, too. The demons will kill him. That's the hard part for you."

"Hard!" Dean growled. "You don't even know what the word means."

"I do," he said. "I have family, too, brothers, and I lost one. I know that pain. I survived it though, and you will, too."

"I won't because it'll never happen."

He sighed. "This is about more than you and Sam. The paths you are both on can only end in misery. You will go to hell and Sam will drink the blood, and it will destroy everything. Say yes to me and I can save it. You can go back to your old life and Sam can have peace."

"I don't believe you. Who are you really?"

He, it, the thing that had stolen John's face, sighed. "That's not important. Say yes, Dean. Let me save you both."

"Who are you?" Dean asked again.

"I am someone who cares."

"No, you're not. If you cared about us you would never ask me to let Sam die."

"I didn't say I cared about _you._ I care about something much bigger than you and your brother."

"Dammit, tell me who you are! Or let me go back to sleep, or wake up, or whatever. Stop whatever you have done and let me go back to my brother!"

"He's not there to go back to though, is he? He's out somewhere destroying himself."

Dean stood and picked up the bottle of whiskey. He brought it crashing down on the edge of the table and lifted the broken neck to his throat. "Let me go or I will shove this through my jugular. Pretty sure that'll wake me up!"

The thing lurched to his feet. "Whoa! Are you kidding me?"

"Not remotely kidding."

"Put the bottle down. This isn't a dream. This is as real as it gets. If you do that, you'll kill yourself."

"I don't believe you!"

"Okay! Okay!" He raised his hands. "You want to know who I am? It's me." The air around him rippled for a moment and then Dean stared into a face he knew, though he had only seen it once. It was the Trickster.

"You!"

"Me. Now, how's about you put that bottle down and we talk a little more."

Dean dropped the bottle down on the table and stared in shock. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you, I care. Sam told you about me, right? I'm a god. You know I have the power to do this for you. I can save Sam _and_ you."

"Letting him die isn't saving him."

"Oh, kiddo, it really is. Sam's on a path to destruction one way or another. At least with my help, he'll end up in Heaven."

"I'm not doing it," Dean said. "No. Whatever it is you do care about can go to hell because there's someone I care about more. My brother. I am not letting him die for _anything_."

The Trickster rolled his eyes. "You Winchesters… Dysfunctional doesn't even begin to cover it. I am offering you the world. All you have to do is say yes to me."

"No," Dean said firmly. "Do what you want to me. Jump me around showing me my screw-ups. Show me Sam sucking down blood. Nothing you can do will change my mind."

"Is that your final word?" he asked.

Dean nodded firmly. "It is."

The Trickster shook his head mournfully. "Okay. I tried. When it all goes wrong, don't come running to me expecting me to fix it all." He reached across the table, two fingers extended. Dean tried to pull back, but the Trickster was too fast. The tips of his fingers pressed against Dean's forehead and sent him spiriling into unconsciousness.

* * *

Ellen ran a hand through her hair as she walked into the bar, trying to brush away the weariness of a bad night's sleep in time for another day to start. She came to a dead stop as she looked around. There were the pieces of a broken whiskey bottle lying on a table and the floor. The neck was intact, jagged and sharp.

Sam was back.

She turned and hurried back through the hall to the boys' room. She threw open the door and rushed inside. Sam wasn't there. Dean was lying on top of the blankets of his bed, his eyes open and confused by her entrance.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Where's Sam?"

He frowned and swung his legs round so sit on the edge of the bed. "Is he back?"

"I thought so. There's a helluva mess in the bar. I figured it was him." She sighed, disappointed. He'd been gone a week now and he hadn't called or answered his phone once to her. He never did anymore.

Dean yawned and got to his feet. "I haven't seen him." He gestured to the neatly made bed. "He's not been in. What's the mess?"

"Broken bottle on the table. Looks like he… Dean!"

He had paled and his eyes became distant. He looked like he might collapse. Ellen steadied him with a hand at his elbow and clicked her fingers in front of his face.

"Hey! Talk to me!"

"It wasn't a dream," Dean breathed.

"What wasn't a dream? You're scaring me, Dean. Talk!"

Dean shook his head jerkily, as if shaking away the thought. "Something happened last night," he said, sinking down onto the edge of the bed again.

"Something like…?"

"I don't even know how to explain it."

Ellen sat on Sam's bed and stared across the small distance at Dean. "Try."

Dean looked up and his eyes were wet. "I thought I saw my dad last night."

Ellen sucked in a breath. "How?"

"It wasn't him, it was some asshole pretending to be him, but it felt so real. If the bottle is there, it must have been real, but I don't understand it. How could it have been real?"

"What happened?" Ellen asked in a low tone.

"I was asleep and I heard something in the bar. I went out there, and I saw Dad. He was sitting at Sam's table. He said he had to show me something, and…. It gets weird, Ellen."

"Weird how?"

"It _was_ like a dream. We went all these places, seeing things that weren't real but could be. Understand?"

"Not even a little."

Dean smiled slightly. "It was a parade of all the crappy things in life, all the people I let down, or would have let down if things had gone differently." His expression became desolate again. "There was this girl a few years ago, one of my kids. She was suicidal and I talked her down. She beat the feeling and now she's in college. She's alive. Last night I saw her take the pills that would kill her."

"You mean something new happened to her?" Ellen asked.

"No, I mean I saw the overdose I averted three years ago. The thing was showing me all the stuff that would have happened if Dad hadn't left me with Sonny. It was the people I wouldn't have been able to help if I'd become a hunter instead of a social worker. He showed me a bunch of things, trying to get the message across that I am more useful to the world working my old life than hunting."

"What was the point?" Ellen asked. "Did it want you to be a social worker again?"

"If only," Dean said. "Well, in a way, yes, but it was more than that. It offered me a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"I say yes to it, let it help me, it'd break the deal."

Ellen gasped. "My god."

Dean smiled grimly. "Yeah. It was really something. Like all deals, it came at a cost, though."

"What was the cost?"

Dean looked down, as if he couldn't bear to see her reaction. "Sam. It would save my life, but it couldn't save Sam's. I would live but he would die."

Ellen felt like she'd been sucker punched in the gut. Sam. She could lose Sam again. She didn't want Dean to die, she loved him, but Sam… He was hers. Her eyes burned with tears as she asked, "What did you say?"

Dean looked up, a grim smile twisting his lips. "You think I'd say yes to that? He was going to let Sammy die. In what kind of world is that even an option? No, I refused. I said no."

"You said no," Ellen sighed, relief washing over her.

"You said _no_!" a voice growled from the doorway.

Ellen and Dean turned to look as the door flew open to thump against the wall. Sam was standing on the threshold. He was radiating fury. His eyes were wide and his pupils blown. His cheeks were suffused with blood and his hands were shaking at his sides. Despite the fury, he looked terrible. His cheeks were flushed but the rest of his face was pale. His eyes were circled with dark shadows and they were red-rimmed.

"Sam," she sighed, getting to her feet and making towards him. He stepped back, away from her.

"You said no!"

"I said no," Dean replied. Though he was obviously startled by Sam's appearance and concerned about the harrowed state of him, his voice was defiant.

"Come sit down," Ellen said, trying to take Sam's arm.

Sam ignored her completely and fixed his gaze on Dean. "Let me get this right, he was offering you life and you refused!"

Dean lurched to his feet. "Yes. Because he wasn't offering me life, Sam. He was offering me more time at the cost of you. That's not a life I want."

Sam struck out a fist and slammed it into the wall, leaving a deep dent in the plaster. "Dammit, Dean! This could have been it!"

"Exactly, it could have been _it_!"

"You had an out!"

"Not one I wanted," Dean said angrily. "It's so easy for you, isn't it? You're so ready and willing to die. You're delusional enough to think I could even be the one to do it! You actually think I could kill you!"

Ellen felt sick. "Kill you!"

Dean turned on her. "Yeah. Sam thinks he's going darkside or something with what he's doing, and I'm supposed to put him down because of it."

"Sam," she said angrily, "how can you even think it? How can you ask him to do something like that?"

"I can because it's my right," Sam said quietly, his tone measured and calm despite the fact he was still obviously angry. "I am corrupting myself, making myself less than human because I have no choice but to do it, and I refuse to live like that. I have spent my life taking out things like me." He stared into Ellen's eyes. "I'm the last of the special children. I've embraced it to save a life, but I won't let it take over mine."

"And what about me?" Ellen asked. "And Dean and Jo? Bobby and Ash? What are we supposed to do when you're gone? How do we get through that?"

"You'll be fine," Sam said dismissively.

"We won't," Dean said in a moan. "None of us. I told you, Sam, it wasn't a real life without you. I am not going back to that. I refuse. Here's what'll happen. You break my deal, awesome, you save me, I'll be grateful, you die, I will follow. I am not living without you again."

Sam stepped forward as if he was going to throw a punch, and Ellen moved to step between then, but then he did something so much worse. Worse for him, better for them, because it was what they'd all been hoping would happen for the longest time.

Sam broke.

He visibly sagged. He bowed his head and tears began to fall to the floor. Ellen wrapped an arm around him and he allowed her to lead him to the bed to sit down. She sat beside him and wrapped her arms around him. She didn't shush or attempt to soothe; she just let him cry knowing it was the very best thing he could do.

Dean's eyes were wet too as he sat down opposite them on his own bed and clasped his hands in his lap. "There's another way, Sam," he said. "I think you _can_ save me now. I believe it. But I can't let you do that at the cost of your own life."

Sam shook his head without words.

"You can save me," Dean went on. "And I can save you. You deal with Lilith, break the deal, and then give it up. Stop what you're doing. I'll help you get through it. All of it."

Ellen was sure she was missing something important, but she didn't interrupt them to ask what. She would get it out of Dean later when Sam was calm again.

"I don't think you can," Sam said in a choked voice. "I think it's too late for me."

"It is _never_ too late," Dean said forcefully. "Until you're in the flames, there's hope, and I will do this. You save me and I'll save you. We can do it, Sam. Believe me. Believe in me. I can do this for you."

Sam looked up, his expression a picture of misery. "What if we fail? What if it happens anyway?"

"It won't," Dean said doggedly. "We can both do this. We can do it for each other."

Sam sniffed, wiped a hand over his face and nodded. "We can do this."

Dean smiled what looked like the first genuine smile Ellen had seen in weeks from him. "We can."

* * *

 **So… 'John' made an appearance and we got to see just how big a difference Dean made to the world. He's been saving lives since he was a teenager, too, just in a different way to Sam.**

 **There is one more chapter to go for this story but… There is another coming. I couldn't seem to let the boys go after I finished this one, so I sat my ass down and wrote a third for the series. Jenjoremy is already working on it, so posting between the two should be seamless.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	25. Chapter 25

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and being awesome. Also thanks to SandraEngrstom2 and Gredelina1 for all the help and support.**

 **For all of you that have made it this far with me, thank you so much. I appreciate every reader and every review. I sincerely hope you will join me in the next story, too.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Five**_

Bobby was setting up a complicated contraption on the desk and Sam was pacing back and forth behind him with the phone to his ear.

"C'mon, Ash! Give me something!" He listened for a moment with a scowl on his face. "Work faster then!" he growled.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on breathing. It was easier with his eyes closed because then he couldn't see their faces twist and transform into something rotting and corrupt. It wasn't real, he knew that, but it didn't stop it being terrifying.

 _Not real. Not real. Not real._

"Dean!" The stress in Bobby's voice made it clear that it wasn't the first time he'd tried to get his attention.

Sam stopped mid-pass and stared at him.

Dean swallowed and licked his lips. "Sorry. What?"

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Fine."

"You're hallucinating, aren't you?" Sam said.

Dean avoided meeting his eye as he said, "Yes," quietly, but he heard Bobby's sigh and Sam's soft groan. "It's okay though," he hurried to reassure them. "I know it's not real."

"It's _not_ real," Sam said firmly. "And it's not for long. Okay? We're going to fix this."

Dean looked gratefully at him. "I know."

Bobby turned his attention back to the contraption on the desk and after another moment staring at his brother, Sam went back to his phone call. "Ash, find me something now!"

The problem was that they were coming down to the wire. It was ten in the morning. Dean had fourteen hours until the hounds came for him, and they still didn't know where Lilith was.

According to Sam, Ruby was out looking. He'd slipped out to meet her early that morning, to get his hit of blood and to try to nail down a location for Lilith. Dean hadn't seen her since that brief flash of her presence before she'd disappeared back at the warehouse. He thought of her sometimes, and tried to decide how he felt about her, but the only thing he was sure of was that he was confused. He didn't know whether he hated her for giving Sam the blood or was grateful for it as it might be the thing that made it possible for Sam to save his life.

"Here goes," Bobby said, drawing Dean's attention and gaze to the desk. There was a crystal pendulum hanging from a silver chain suspended over a map. As Dean watched, Bobby set it swinging and stepped back. It circled slowly at first and then picked up speed as Bobby started to chant in Latin. They all watched, transfixed as it swept over the map, Sam with the phone held loosely at his side.

"Come on. Come on," Bobby chanted.

Suddenly, it stopped, the tip of the crystal resting on a point of the map in Montana.

Bobby bent over it and said, "Snake Creek!"

Sam lifted the phone to his ear again. "Hear that, Ash? Snake Creek. What's there?"

Bobby locked eyes with Dean over the map. "We've got her, boy. We've found her."

Dean nodded and tried not to shudder as Bobby's eyes flickered black.

 _Not real._

Sam dropped the phone down onto the table and said, "Ash says it's a small town in the north. There's not a lot there other than farms and people. There's also some big-ass signs."

"And he didn't think it was worth mentioning those signs before now?" Bobby asked bitterly.

"He did," Sam said. "But there are also big signs in thirteen other states right now. Demons are gathering."

 _Celebrating,_ Dean thought. It was a shame they'd have nothing to celebrate soon when Sam sent their big boss packing.

Bobby bent over the map again and then made a note on a piece of paper. "Well, we've got coordinates for this particular demon, so what do you say we get going."

Dean nodded and tried to stamp down the fear as he thought about the ticking clock counting down the hours they had to get to Lilith before the deal came due.

 _Sam will do it._

"Come on then," Bobby said briskly. "Let's get going."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I don't know, Bobby. Maybe you should stay here."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "You think? Sure. Why not? I have been at every other seminal moment of your life since you were four years old, but I should skip out on the day you're saved from Hell because there's better things for me to be doing. I could bake a cake for when you get back maybe."

"This is dangerous, Bobby."

"Hellhounds usually are," he said dryly.

Dean winced and Bobby looked apologetic.

"We only have two weapons," Sam said calmly. "The knife and the colt. What are you bringing, a peashooter?"

Bobby scowled at him. "I'm bringing more years experience than you've been alive."

"Which will really help. Maybe you can research Lilith to death."

Bobby reddened and Dean stepped between them. "Bobby, we're trying to keep you safe."

"I'm coming," Bobby said implacably. "I am not sitting home and twiddling my thumbs while you two go facing off with this bitch."

Sam shrugged. "Fine. If you're coming, you'll need this." He held out the demon knife.

Bobby frowned as he took it. "And what will you use?"

Sam exchanged a dark look with Dean. "I'll be fine." He walked away into the kitchen and through the door.

"What does he mean?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing," Dean said quickly.

"You're lying to me."

Dean smiled grimly. "Today, I have the right."

"Fine," Bobby said. "But tomorrow you won't have the right. The three of us are going to sit down and have a talk about this."

"Absolutely," Dean said, thinking that tomorrow Bobby would already know just how Sam planned on defending himself because he would have seen it all. That wouldn't matter though, as it meant there would be a tomorrow for them all.

* * *

They were powering along I-94 on the last thrust of their journey, Bobby on their tail in his Chevelle, when Dean leaned over to turn the radio down. They hadn't been silent for the drive; they'd talked about inconsequential things such as memories of their youth and plans for their future, with Led Zeppelin as background for their conversations. They'd both agreed that the next day was the first day of vacation for them. They weren't going to hunt for at least a month, no matter what came along. It was going to be pure relaxation time. Maybe they'd go somewhere with a beach.

Dean turned the music down now though because there was something he needed to say and he wanted Sam's attention on him. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "For…?"

"For everything. For not staying gone forever. For coming back for me again and again. For this past—"

"Stop!" Sam said harshly.

"What?"

"You're saying goodbye," Sam growled. "You're not dying so you don't need to say goodbye."

"I'm not saying goodbye," Dean said calmly. "I'm saying thank you."

"You don't need to say that either."

"I do. I need to say it for myself. I am so grateful I found you again." He stared out of the windshield. "Did you know that before you called Bobby's for that book, we thought you were dead?"

Sam shot him a sharp glance. "Why?"

"News came in about Jim and Caleb, and Dad, but no one was talking about you. We thought you had been killed, too. I was grieving when Bobby called to say he'd heard from you. Best damn phone call I ever got. Not only were you alive, you were coming to see him, too. For the first time in eleven years I was going to see you again. Then I saw you and you were…"

"An asshole?" Sam suggested.

"You were _different_ ," Dean corrected. "And I thought there was no hope. But there was. I'm saying thank you for that, for letting me in again and giving me my family back."

Sam stared through the windshield at the road and nodded slowly. "Thank you, too. I have been an asshole about this, and that's not fair, but thank you for coming back for me and for…"—he swallowed—"the deal. I hate it. I hate that you made it and what you risked, but you saved my life and I should have thanked you for that a long time ago." He looked at Dean as he said, "Thank you, Dean."

Dean knew just what a challenge it had been for Sam to say those words, and the fact he had done it meant a lot to him. "I would do it all again in a heartbeat," he said sincerely. "You are worth it."

Sam shook his head but didn't speak. He obviously didn't believe Dean, but he could perhaps relate to that feeling. He was risking everything, preparing to give it all up, to save Dean by using his powers and drinking the blood. He thought that was the end for him just like Dean's deal should be for him. It wasn't for either of them. Sam would save him and then he would save Sam. That was what they did because they were family.

* * *

Dean had his phone out and was directing them to the exact coordinates Bobby had tracked for them for Lilith.

Many times on their demon tracking expeditions they had arrived to find that the demons had already moved on before they got there. That hadn't happened this time. As they passed into town, they were met by one of the worst storms Dean had ever seen. Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder rolled overhead. The wipers were whipping back and forth but visibility was still bad as the rain pelted the car.

"We're almost there," Dean said. "Just another half mile."

Sam leaned forward and peered out the windshield. "I don't see anything. I can't imagine Lilith standing in a field in this weather."

Dean tried to focus through the rain out his window. A flash of lightning lit the horizon for a moment and he saw a dark shape. "There's something there. See?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't…" Lightning flashed again. "What is that?"

"No idea," Dean said.

It soon became clear what it was as they got closer. It was a school. There was a line of yellow buses in the parking lot and a sign declaring the place as _Snake Creek Elementary School._

"Why the hell would she be in a school?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't answer. He was steering the car into the parking lot and pulling over. He paused for a moment, looked at Dean and then they both climbed out, getting soaked to the skin almost at once. Bobby pulled over beside them and as he climbed out and looked around the lot, he moaned. "Balls!"

"What?" Dean asked.

"Rufus!" He was pointing to an old Ford Taurus parked on the other side of the lot.

The door opened and a man climbed out and made his way over to them. He came to a stop in front of them and narrowed his eyes at Bobby. "Singer, you old bastard, what are you doing here?"

"Me? What about you?" Bobby asked. "Thought you retired."

"A man see signs like this in the area, retirement goes out the window," Rufus replied. His eyes moved to Sam. "Winchester."

"Turner," he replied.

Bobby gaped at them. "Hold up! You two know each other? Why the hell didn't you tell me, Rufus?"

"That I knew another hunter? Maybe because it's not my job to keep you up to date on the people I meet, and also because it's none of your business."

"I hate to break this reunion up," Sam said, "but we've got a bigger problem right now." He jerked his head toward the door and Dean stepped back involuntarily. Two people were standing there. Except they weren't people. They were demons. Their rotted and twisted faces were repulsive and clear to Dean to see.

"Demons," he breathed.

"If there's two…" Rufus said in a whisper.

Bobby nodded. "There's plenty more." He pulled the knife from his pocket and gripped the handle tight.

"Colt?" Dean asked Sam, reaching into his jacket for it.

"No," Sam said. "We don't know if she's aware we're here yet. Gunshots will tip her off."

"What do you think, Bobby?" Rufus said. "The Denver job?"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. Is there another way in?"

"Place this big, there's gotta be."

"What are you thinking?" Sam asked.

"Sprinkler system," Bobby replied. "We've done it before. You'd be surprised how fast demons run when it rains holy water."

"Okay," Sam said. "You two find another way in. Me and Dean will take the demons. We'll draw as many away from you as we can."

"How are you going to do that?" Bobby asked.

"Like this," Sam said, walking toward the demons with his arms spread wide and calling to them. "Come on then you black-eyed sons of bitches. Come and get what's coming to you."

The demons looked at each other, nodded, and then came to meet Sam. Bobby and Rufus disappeared around the side of the building and Dean followed Sam.

"Winchesters," the first demon hissed.

The second started to speak, but Sam was already in motion. His arm was raised and his eyes squinted and the black smoke started pouring from the demon's mouth. The first tried to run but Sam raised his other arm and clenched a fist as if holding it in place. The demon struggled but it was like an invisible hand was holding it. Sam was holding it. The demon Sam was exorcising dropped to the ground as the last of the smoke left it and Sam turned his attention to the other. It was fast, confident and awe inspiring to see. The smoke poured out of the demon and sank into the asphalt, leaving sparks and a dark stain behind beneath the downed meat suit.

Sam didn't even bother to check if the humans were alive. He just stepped around them and walked through the open doors of the school. Dean followed.

* * *

Dean heard the singing first, and it made him sick as it was a child's voice coming to them along the hall.

" _Just thinkin' about tomorrow, clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow, 'til there's none!"_

"Jesus," Sam whispered. "What the…"

"Maybe it's just the song," Dean said hopefully. "The CD."

Sam nodded. "Maybe." He didn't sound like he believed it any more than Dean did. "Come on."

They walked together along the hall, their footsteps echoing. Dean felt sick. There was probably a child at the end of this journey. What the hell would Lilith want with a child? It could be nothing good.

The singing got louder as they approached a door at the end marked _Auditorium,_ and when they reached it, Dean swallowed hard.

"You don't have to come in," Sam said. "I can take her alone."

"You think she's really alone in there?"

"No," Sam said bluntly. "But you still don't need to come in."

"I do," Dean said. This was his life they were saving, and he wouldn't let his brother go in alone. It was his to risk, too.

Sam pushed open the door, and the singing swelled.

" _Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow. You're only a day away"_

They stepped into a nightmare.

* * *

There were so many of them, so many demons, sitting in the tiered seats. Every one of their faces was displayed to Dean in its rotting glory. On the stage was another, a destroyed face superimposed over the image of a child. She had blonde ringlets and a pretty white dress, and she was smiling at Dean. Lilith had put a demon in a _child!_

Dean reached out without thought and gripped Sam's sleeve. Sam patted his hand then stepped forward, breaking Dean's grip.

"You like my singing?" the little girl asked sweetly. "I learned it just for you, Dean."

Dean shuddered.

His eyes scanned the demons in the seats, wondering which one was Lilith. He guessed the woman who sat alone in the front row. His suspicion was confirmed as she stood up and applauded the little girl.

"That was beautiful, Rosie. Truly lovely. I'm sure Dean did enjoy it. He's just a little distracted right now by his imminent death."

Sam sucked in a breath and started to raise his arm as Dean pulled the colt from his jacket. Ruby had said Lilith wouldn't allow herself to be shot at, but she didn't seem remotely afraid of them. He thought perhaps her confidence would be her downfall.

"I don't think so," she said, sweeping an arm through the air.

Dean was whipped up as if by a strong wind and thrown against a wall. He saw Sam hit the wall beside him and he groaned as the colt dropped out of his hand to the floor.

The little girl, Rosie, skipped across the stage, coming down the steps to stop in front of them. She picked up the gun and examined it. The sight of the child armed, even though she was a demon, was chilling.

"Look at the pretty gun," she said in a high, childish voice.

"Very pretty," Lilith agreed. "Do you know what these mean men were going to do with the pretty gun, Rosie?"

Rosie shook her head.

"They were going to shoot me."

Rosie's eyes widened. "Meanies."

Sam was trying to pull himself free from the wall, and his hand was fisted, but nothing was happening to Lilith or Rosie, which made Dean sure nothing _could_ happen while he was pinned.

Dean could barely believe what was happening. Reality was washing over him and with it came paralyzing fear. Sam couldn't work his mojo; Lilith had them trapped. The hounds were going to come and there was nothing they could do to stop them.

He was going to die.

His only hope was Bobby and Rufus, and he wasn't sure what holy water would do against a demon as powerful as Lilith.

"It's okay. It's okay," Sam was chanting.

Dean realized he was talking to him. He was trying to reassure him. He did the only thing he could do for his brother; he agreed. "I know, Sammy."

"Okay?" Lilith said in disbelief, and the demons in the seats laughed raucously. Even Rosie giggled. "You're the furthest thing from okay right now. Both of you are going to die."

Dean's heart clenched. Not Sam, too. He could take anything but that.

"So, Dean," Lilith said. "We've got a little time before midnight, so let's talk. What do you think of our little Rosie? Isn't she darling?"

Rosie waved sweetly.

"I thought you'd appreciate her," Lilith went on. "You like kids, right?"

"Fuck you!" Dean snarled.

Rosie gasped. "Naughty."

"Yes, language," Lilith chided. "There's a child present."

"That thing's not a child," Sam said through his teeth.

"You're right," Lilith said. "She's nothing anymore. Rosie here had a little fun taking on this meat suit. She took a little—"

She cut off suddenly as the water began to rain down on them. It was chaos. The demons shrieked and screamed as it burned their skin, making them sizzle and smoke. They ran for the exits as one, howling with pain. Lilith ran too. Her influence gone, they were released from the wall, and they staggered forward.

Demons rushed past them and for a moment Dean didn't see what was wrong with the scene. Then it hit him; Lilith was running, but Rosie wasn't. Her ringlets and dress were damp with holy water, but she didn't look remotely troubled and her skin was clear of smoke. Her eyes were also white.

"Lilith!" Dean growled.

She giggled. "Fooled ya! Fooled ya! Silly Dean."

Dean saw Sam step forward, his hand raised and pointed at Lilith. "Goodbye, bitch," he snarled.

Lilith struggled to move, but Sam was holding her as fast as he had the demon outside. Dean watched in awe as Sam slowly clenched his fist.

"Come on, Sammy," he breathed. "You can do it."

Sam was shaking and a line of blood seeped from his nose down his lips and mouth, but he didn't stop. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his fist tighter.

It was working. Lilith coughed and smoke began to trickle from her mouth. Dean was exultant. He was going to do it. Dean was safe. Sam was saving him. Then Lilith raised a small hand of her own and Sam's struggle seemed to become much harder. His shaking was practically a seizure. It was a battle between them.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Lilith smiled. "Hear that?" she asked, her young voice strained. "They're coming."

Dean heard. On the wind there was the sound of a bell ringing, counting down to midnight.

"No!" Sam shouted.

"Yes," Lilith said happily. She shoved a hand out and Sam was knocked back a step. It was enough to break his concentration. His hand dropped and before he could raise it and restart his assault, Lilith swept out a small, pudgy hand and he was forced back against the wall.

"Dean!" he shouted. "No!"

Dean turned to him and smiled reassuringly. "It's okay, Sammy. I'll be fine."

"No!"

Dean heard the growl behind him and he turned away regretfully from his brother into the most horrific image he had seen in his life: a hellhound.

"Puppy!" Lilith squealed.

"Dean!" Sam bellowed.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said one last time. "I'm going to be fine."

The hellhound sprang forward.

* * *

Bobby knew, he knew before he reached them that it had happened, that he'd lost his boy, because of the keening human howls coming to him along the hall.

A chill of unreality fell over him as he staggered towards the door.

 _Not real. Not real. Not real._

He felt Rufus rest a hand on his shoulder in comfort. It was so wrong. He didn't need comfort because it wasn't real. Couldn't be real. Dean couldn't be… gone.

"Dean! No! Please no!" the voice shouted beyond the doors.

Bobby wished it would stop. He couldn't bear to hear it. There was too much pain in the voice. It threatened to break his unreality. He was scared it would make him feel, too.

He came to a stop outside the door and rested his hand against the wood. He needed to go in, but he was scared, more scared than he had ever been in his life, of what he would see.

"Come on, Bobby," Rufus said as another howl of pain rent the air. "He needs you."

That was wrong. Sam never needed Bobby anymore. He only needed Dean. And Dean was…

He pushed open the door.

He couldn't see the wounds left by the hounds because Dean was held tight against Sam. He could see his face though. His pale, young, loved face.

His skin was ashen, but that was the only sign of death. His expression was peaceful, as if he was sleeping. There was no look of pain in him.

Sam cried out again and began to rock Dean back and forth. "Dean, please. Wake up. Please wake up."

Bobby staggered forward on numb feet and dropped to his knees beside Sam. He rested a hand on his shoulder and whispered his name.

Sam looked up and Bobby saw the tears tracking down his face. He was in agony.

"He can't wake up, son," Bobby said. "He's gone."

Sam moaned in pain. "I tried. I swear, Bobby, I tried."

"I know you did."

Sam buried his face against Dean's neck and his words came out muffled. "I failed. I promised him. I broke my promise. He's gone."

* * *

Sam stood beside the mound of earth that covered his brother's body and drew a breath before making the vow he had already broken once. "I will save you, Dean. I swear I will. This is not the end."

He would save him; no matter what it took or what he had to do to himself, he would do it.

He had nothing left to lose.

* * *

 _Four months later._

Anna Milton jerked awake in the middle of the night, voices filling her mind. They were exalted and triumphant, and they scared her as they echoed around her head.

" _Dean Winchester is saved."_

* * *

 **So… Before you come at me with flamethrowers I want you to remember two things. One: This is not the end. There is another story coming. Two: He's out already. Anna says so.**

 **I cried outlining this chapter. I cried writing. I cried reading it over. I cried for 2 more editing sessions and I cried when posting. If I did my job right I made you cry too. Let me know if I did.  
**

 **Because I am not evil — I'm really not, honest — I am going to start posting the third story just as soon as I update this one to complete. It should be on my profile by the time you get to this AN.**

 **Until the next story…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


End file.
